


Jack, the Friendly Ghost

by bookworm0702



Series: Happy Halloween [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Casper (1995) Fusion, Dead Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is Claire Novak's Parent, First Crush, Gen, Ghost Gabriel (Supernatural), Ghost Jack Kline, Ghost Lucifer (Supernatural), Ghost Sam Winchester, Minor Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Psychiatrist Dean Winchester, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm0702/pseuds/bookworm0702
Summary: Claire is a lonely girl who just wants a friend. Jack is a lonely ghost who just wants a friend. You could say that they were a match made in Heaven
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jack Kline/Claire Novak
Series: Happy Halloween [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528934
Kudos: 6





	Jack, the Friendly Ghost

The two boys cautiously slipped under the wrought iron fence that guarded the mansion behind it. 

It was a rite of passage for every teenager in the town to try to sneak in and get photographic evidence. No one had ever done it successfully, however, so if Ben and Jesse managed it, they would be legends.

Ben looked up at the hideous old house. It looked even more terrifying at night, and he really wished he had listened to Jesse’s suggestion that they wait until early morning. He took a deep breath, “Okay… one picture, and we’re history.”

Jesse cringed at the phrasing, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Come on,” Ben said, dragging his justifiably scared friend behind him up the driveway. They found themselves at the large front door, it looked enormous and daunting to the preteen boys. Ben swallowed hard and reached for the handle, silently hoping the house would be locked. After all, an enormous, potentially haunted mansion on the cliffside. It must be locked, otherwise it would just be a prime spot for ghost hunters, squatters, addicts, and all sorts of looters.

It made perfect sense to keep the door locked. So naturally, it creaked open.

The boys shared a look, neither one wanted to go in, but they also didn’t want to be the one to suggest leaving. But as Ben slowly made his way through the door, Jesse couldn’t stop himself, “Do we really have to do this?” he asked, stopping his friend.

“Do you want everyone at school to think we’re chicken?”

Jesse thought for a second, “I could live with that.”

Ben rolled his eyes, “Come on,” he grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him into the house. 

It was beautiful, of course, in that way old mansions always are. The foyer was a large, open space with large windows and an elegant staircase leading to the darkness of the upstairs. It was beautiful, but as Jesse and Ben looked around, they felt nothing but fear.

“Let’s just take the picture and get out of here,” Ben said, pulling out his phone. The picture easily showed the boys, but none of the mansion surrounding them. He sighed, and handed his phone to his friend while he went to stand where the moonlight was shining through one of the large picture windows. 

Jesse got ready to take the picture before he realized, “I’ve gotta be in the picture too, or else no one is gonna believe I was here.”

Ben rolled his eyes, “Just shut up and take the picture.”

“No, you take the picture!”

“No, you!”

“You!”

“Guys, guys don’t fight!” a young boy’s voice called out as the phone was taken out of Jesse’s hands. The two friends looked on in horror as the phone was held in front of them, “I’ll take the picture! Say cheese.”

As the unseen entity snapped the picture, the boys ran screaming out of the mansion.

\--

“To the Save the Bees Foundation: $14 million. And to the Save the Dolphins Foundation: $11 million. To the Save the Pumas Foundation: $1.2 million. To the Patagonian Wasp Salvation Fund: $1.4 million.”

Abaddon was growing increasingly anxious as she heard her cousin’s attorney, Azazel, continued to read Cain’s will.

“To the Dyslexic Dalmatians Foundation: $4- “

She interrupted the lawyer, “To Hell with the livestock. What did he leave me?”

Crowley, her (sort of) friend, glared at her, “I believe what the bereaved meant to express was that the sudden death of her last living relative has left a great gaping void in her bank, and her life, and Abaddon wonders what he has left her to fill it up with.”

Azazel hummed and read down the will, “Let’s see…bobcats…owls…snakes…Ah. Here it is. Cousin: Abaddon. To my only living relative I leave you the Hunters Manor in Maine.”

Abaddon waited for him to go on, “And?”

He looked at his watch, “And I’m late for lunch, so if you’ll excuse me.” he stood up, and gathered his papers into his briefcase.

“Are you trying to tell me that I just spent the last two days holding his clammy hand and waiting for him to die, and all I get in return is one lousy piece of property?” Abaddon was furious. She and her cousin had always hated each other, but this was just too far. This was just Cain’s final ‘I hate you’ to his own cousin.

Azazel’s yellow tinged eyes rolled in annoyance. He was just here to read the will, not get involved in a post-mortem family feud, “No, it was lousy about fifty years ago. Now it’s condemned,” he slid the folder containing the deed over to the annoyed red head, and left the room, leaving her with a final, “Enjoy.”

Crowley picked up the folder as Abaddon turned on him, “This is all your fault, as usual! If you had just forged the damn will!”

“Well, this is condemned seafront property,” Crowley said, ignoring his acquaintance.

Abaddon’s red painted lips tightened into a furious scowl, “Don’t you get it?” she snatched the paperwork out of his hand, “Flipper got more money than me!” she shrieked before tossing the deed into the lit fireplace.

“Abaddon, the deed’s in there!” Crowley said as he rushed over to rescue the documents. They could do nothing about the house, or the will without the records. As he frantically pulled out the folder, and patted the flames out with his bare hands, he examined the paperwork to ensure nothing important was lost, barely noticing the lone slip of paper that had fallen out.

Deeming it a lost cause, he read it aloud regardless, “’Buccaneers and buried gold. Hunters doth a treasure hold.”

Abaddon rushed to his side, “Treasure!?” Crowley, you idiot, get it out!”

He grabbed the paper and both adults tried to blow out the flames, but it was too late. They had waited too long and it was in ashes now. 

Abaddon didn’t care about that, though. “I knew that place was worth something. There’s treasure in that house. And finally, I’m gonna get what I deserve.”

Crowley was looking at his burned hands in horror, “Abaddon…I think I need a doctor.”

“There’s plenty in Maine,” she declared, grabbing his injured hand and pulling him out of the office. 

\--

Crowley’s heavily bandaged hands pushed open the door of Hunter Manor. 

Abaddon looked around the condemned manor with contempt, “What a dump.”

Crowley disagreed, “This place is fabulous! You could do so much with it! I mean, it is a bit spooky, but you might be able to use that as a selling point...”

“Hello!” a young, male voice called out.

“Who are you?!” Crowley shouted, as Abaddon hid behind him. Less of an ‘I’m scared’ move, and more of a ‘you’ll die first.’

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” the voice responded, apologetically. 

“Why not?” Crowley demanded as the pair looked around, trying to see who was speaking.

“Uh…it’s kinda hard to explain.”

“Are you the caretaker?” judging by how young the voice sounded, he doubted it, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. 

“No, not exactly.”

“Show yourself!”

“…Here’s the thing…if I do, don’t scream, okay? I get that a lot…”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Are you a burglar? Because I warn you, I am armed!” he declared, pulling something out of his suit pocket. It might have looked very threatening if it weren’t for the fact that the item started to vibrate in his hand as a call came in... “Hello?” he said, answering the phone and ignoring the disembodied voice while Abaddon rolled her eyes at him.

“Cut the crap! If you don’t show yourself right now, I’m gonna have you arrested for trespassing!” 

“Okay, okay. Geez, calm down, lady,” the voice muttered, “Here I come!”

Abaddon and Crowley looked on in horror as a small, floating, white figure came down the staircase at inhuman speeds, “Hi! I’m Jack!” it greeted them with a tiny little wave of a transparent hand. The small, shy smile on the oversized round head faded quickly as the two living people in front of him began to scream. Jack cringed and tried to stop them, “You shouldn’t do that! You’ll wake up—” he stopped when the ground under the intruder’s feet began to tremble. The small ghost gave a longsuffering sigh, “Too late,” he let himself fade away, not wanting to be seen.

Abaddon and Crowley looked on in horror as a swirling, menacing glowing vortex appeared in the middle of the foyer. The moans and cries coming from the distorted faces were enough to send the two scrambling out to their car, as shrieking laughter followed them.

Things had just become a bit more complicated for Abaddon.

\--

Abaddon stared at the priest standing in front of them, “You do have experience in this sort of thing?”

“Not in practice, but I’ve studied it and spoken to people who have done it. I’ve seen videos and I feel very confident in my knowledge. It’s no problem.”

“Then you can handle this?” she wanted to be sure. 

“It’s no problem, it’ll be a piece of cake.”

Neither Abaddon or Crowley had much faith in the young priest standing in front of them, but they motioned him onwards, regardless. This was the third priest they’ve had over and not a single one had been able to exorcise the ghosts, or demons, or whatever other beasts were inhabiting the manor.

Sure enough, the newest priest came out of the manor, covered in a strange liquid with his head on backwards. Despite this, he was upright, and walking as if nothing was wrong with him. 

“Well…how did it go?” Abaddon asked, already used to the strange way the priests would leave the manor. 

“Oh, it was fine. It was no problem at all, just a piece of cake. I think I should go to the hospital now, though. Please excuse me.”

And that was how it continued to go. Priests, psychics, witch doctors, a group of four kids and a large dog in a groovy van, ghost hunters, the next few weeks saw dozens of these types of people go in and out of the Hunters Manor. And not a single one was able to get the ghosts out of there. All of them ran, screaming, away from the manor, away from the town, some even left the state, not wanting to be anywhere near the house and its inhabitants.

Crowley and Abaddon knew they had to try a different approach, “What now?”

Abaddon’s red lips twisted into a sneer, “What do I normally do when something gets in my way?”

And with that, came the wrecking ball. If the ghosts wouldn’t leave, and the house was already condemned, then Abaddon figured she might as well just destroy it. Once the house and the ghosts were gone, it would be a simple enough matter to find the treasure. 

Crowley looked around at the construction workers preparing for the demolition, “Are you sure we’re not going a tad overboard here?”

“Crowley, I have huffed and puffed, and no I wanna rip this place down. I want my treasure. They can’t haunt a pile of rubble for Christ’s sake!”

It turns out, they wouldn’t need to haunt a pile of rubble. The ghosts were there to stay and judging by the way the construction men were running away, so was the house. 

\--

Jack floated in a relaxed pose a few inches above his favorite chair, mindlessly channel surfing. He thought of all the people who had been to the house, recently and all the different ways his uncles managed to scare them off. It happened every time. All Jack really wanted was a friend, but the few people who weren’t scared of him were scared off by his uncles. 

As he was floating, lonely and bored, something on the T.V. caught his eye. ‘Dr. Dean Winchester, therapist to the dead.’ The little ghost thought it was funny, and decided to keep watching, “Are you depressed? Are you anxious? Are you lonely? Do you need someone to talk to?” Jack nodded at every question, “No problem…if you’re a ghost.” The program cut to the man in question. He didn’t look like any of the average therapists Jack had seen in movies. He was handsome, a bit scruffy, wearing flannel and a leather jacket. He honestly looked more like a lumberjack than a psychiatrist. 

“The truth is that they just need help sometimes, just like the rest of us,” the doctor said to the camera, before the narrator took over once more, as the camera focused on the picture of another handsome man, with messy black hair, a subtle smile and beautiful blue eyes.

“After the sudden, unexpected death of his husband Castiel, Dr. Winchester gave up conventional psychiatry and, some say, conventional sanity. And now along with his loner daughter Claire,” Jack’s transparent eyes lit up as the camera cut to a young blonde girl. She was very pretty and Jack knew he would be blushing if he could, “Dr. Winchester travels from town to town, searching for paranoid poltergeists, scared specters, the depressed, and the dead.”

The camera once more focused on the doctor’s daughter. She was obviously at school and looked very annoyed at the man behind the camera, “How do you feel about your father’s career?”

“Could you please not ask me any questions,” Claire asked with an annoyed side-eye. The interviewer ignored the reasonable request and continued to badger the young girl with question after question, which she steadfastly ignored.

“Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever seen one? Does your father ever hurt you in any way?”

At that last question, she glared at them, “He’s my father,” she said, frustrated at the interrogation.

“Could you please just talk to us?”

Claire, who was obviously fed up, turned on the camera, “Look, it’s the first day of school, I’m sure I’m gonna have homework, so would you please just leave?”

Jack watched, feeling the beginnings of a tiny crush on the living girl before he gasped, “Abaddon!” he had certainly never heard of ghost therapy before, and he was positive that this Dean Winchester was the only person who specialized in it. Before he could change his mind, he floated into the television set and through the power lines to the only hotel in Friendship Maine.

He made his way into her hotel room where she was arguing on the phone with room service, “What part don’t you understand? No, not ‘I ate fish,’ I HATE fish. Don’t you people have cows here?”

Jack turned on the tv in her room, setting the channel to the story on Dr. Winchester. She didn’t notice, still caught up in the argument, “Look, I have had a very long and trying day. Do you think you could bring me a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, the Tonight Dough, and a Diet Pepsi? Do you comprehend what I am asking for? Do you think you can handle that? Now you want me to hold. Fine.”

The volume for the tv was slowly turning up, but she still didn’t notice until the front desk worker put her on hold. She finally turned towards the tv where Dr. Winchester was once again speaking, “With therapy they can pack up their emotional baggage, and they can move on.”

The program cut to a testimonial from one of his past clients, whose face was blurred for privacy, “My Garth passed away five years ago, but he was so sad, his spirit wouldn’t leave the farm. So, I called Dr. Winchester, and in a few weeks, Garth left smiling.”

“The dead are known for haunting us, but my question is, what’s haunting them? It’s a lack of resolution. Ghosts are simply spirits without resolution, with unfinished business. It’s my job to find out what that is.”

The program went back to the narrator, “And so, Dr. Dean Winchester continues his work, dragging his daughter along for the ride. This week, they’re in Lawrence, Kansas, and next week? Boo knows?”

Abaddon raised a neat eyebrow as the front desk worker finally takes her off hold, “Yes, I’m still here. Find me the number for Dr. Dean Winchester.”

\--

Eye of the Tiger was blaring from a black 1967 chevy impala as it sped up the interstate. Claire rolled her eyes at her father, who drummed his hands on the steering wheel, singing his heart out. They were on the road once again, heading to who-knows-where. She had literally been in school for a week, and now they had to leave again. She loved her dad, but this was just an awful way for a kid to grow up. Claire finally couldn’t take the noise anymore and reached over to turn off the music, ejecting the cassette tape, yes, her dad had cassette tapes, and tossed it in the shoe box with the rest of his collection.

Dean looked over at where she sat, sullenly staring out the window at the passing scenery, “Hon, I’m sorry about your science group.”

“Math.”

“I don’t care what they said, you are not demented,” Dean could slap himself. That was not a very tactful way to phrase that. Despite his career, he was never good at consoling her. Neither was Cas, but they at least had a more profound bond. Cas had always been able to at the very least, make her smile and forget for a few minutes what was bothering her. Dean and his daughter didn’t have a bad relationship, but it wasn’t the best right now, “You’re a picture of mental health.”

Claire just glared at him, “They were talking about you. Imagine having to explain after-life therapy to a bunch of junior high kids.”

Dean just shook his head, “Some people go through life never questioning the norm. But you and I, we’re doing something extraordinary with our lives. We’re gonna make a difference.”

“No,” Claire scoffed, “We’re not doing anything. You’re the one who keeps packing up my stuff, and moving me around the country. I mean, in two years, I have been to nine different schools. I’ve eaten in nine different cafeterias. I can’t even remember anyone’s name! For once, I would just like to be in one place long enough…to make a friend.”

Dean pursed his lips. He knew his daughter was lonely, and he knew that this wasn’t a healthy life style for anyone, let alone a preteen girl, “Honey, you will,” Claire scoffed again, clearly not believing him. Dean honestly couldn’t fault her, “I mean, come on. We’re moving to Friendship, Maine. Even I might make one,” he joked.

“You better, Dad. But a single guy your age is more likely to become a hostage in a bank robbery than to make new friends,” Claire said with a little laugh.

Dean laughed, “You sound like your Papa. He would always use those weird statistics, and I was always too afraid to check if it was true or not.”

Claire furrowed her eyebrows, debating on whether or not she should comment on that, “…You’re not gonna find him,” she felt guilty as the laughter faded from his eyes, “Papa’s not a ghost, Dad.”

Dean shook his head, focusing on the road ahead of them, “Oh, yes he is…he has unfinished business.”

He had been saying that for two years, ever since Papa had died. It had fueled him through ten different moves, the loss of his credibility, the mockery and scorn, and the constant insults. It was all worth it to him, because in his mind, every ghost he could help, was one step closer to finding his husband. His angel.

Claire was tired, though. When she was ten, it was a bizarre hope. Papa’s not gone, Daddy’s gonna find him. But as the months passed, and she saw more and more of how her dad was changing, she just couldn’t take it. They couldn’t work on healing together, because he didn’t think there was anything to heal from.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. Dean glanced over at his daughter and abruptly pulled off to the side of the road. Claire looked at him, confused, “I’ll tell you what…if you go with me this one last time, and I don’t find what I’m looking for, it’s over. No more moving, no more ghost therapy.”

Her eyes lit up with hope, “You promise?”

He didn’t hesitate, “I promise.”

Claire smiled and held out her pinky, “It’s a deal.”

Dean locked his pinky with her smaller one, forging the unbreakable pinky promise. He gave her an awkward car hug, before taking off once more.

Next stop, Hunters Manor.

\--

Claire couldn’t deny that Maine was beautiful. She actually let herself be excited. He had promised they wouldn’t move again, and she didn’t think this would be the worst place. It was better than Kansas, that was for sure. And Friendship even had a beach! No, it was definitely beautiful, and as they drove up to the decrepit manor they would be living in, it was also too good to be true. Maine was beautiful, this mansion was awful. 

Dean got out of the car, “It’s not so bad, huh?”

Claire followed, “If you’re Stephen King.”

Dean didn’t have time to respond to the admittedly true statement before a black SUV pulled up in front of them. A man in a black suit stepped out, followed by a red-headed woman. 

“Dr. Winchester, I’m Abaddon Demoniac, owner of Hunters Manor…that’s Crowley.”

Crowley offered Dean a hand, “I’m a close, personal friend.”

Dean chuckled awkwardly, “This is my daughter, Claire.”

“His close, personal daughter,” she said, awkwardly as Abaddon and Crowley closed in on her.

“How nice to meet you, Claire,” Abaddon said, grabbing Claire’s face with red-tipped fingers.

“Very nice to meet you,” Crowley confirmed.

“You have a beautiful daughter, Dr. Winchester.”

“Very beautiful.”

“I can’t tell you how happy we are that you could come all the way to Hunters Manor.”

“Very happy.”

“The both of us.”

Claire was getting creeped out, “You’re kinda hurting my face.”

“Sorry,” Abaddon said, pushing Claire aside and walking over to Dean as Claire rubbed at her aching cheeks, “Now, Dr. Winchester, exactly what kind of time frame are you looking at? Please tell me you just go into the house and spray, and that’s it.”

Dean already didn’t like these people, and their utter disregard for other people’s personal space was not helping the matter, “No, no, no. As with a traditional psychological cure, it can take weeks or even years for—”

Abaddon shoved a finger in his face to cut him off, “Excuse me. You didn’t just say the word ‘years,’ did you?”

“It’s conceivable.”

“No, it isn’t. Days: conceivable. Weeks: maybe. Months: no. Years: forget it!”

“Forget it!” Crowley reiterated. 

“Crowley, check,” the abrasive woman snapped at her companion. Crowley pulled a prepared check out of his pocket and went to hand it to the doctor. Abaddon snatched it out of his hands and commanded, “Get the bouquet,” the small man scurried back over to their car as Abaddon turned back to Dean, “Now, Dr. Winchester, I will be watching you very closely,” she said before allowing him to take the check. Crowley handed her a lovely bouquet of roses and lilies, that sat in a vase that looked more fitting for a funeral. She thrust them into the doctor’s broad chest, “These are for you.”

“Have a lovely night,” Crowley said in a bit of a mocking tone before the two strange people got back into their SUV and drove away.

Dean and Claire shared a look. Those people were weird, but they were paying a very nice sum of money for this. They could put up with a bit of weirdness. The duo shrugged and went to grab a few of their bags before finally making their way inside the manor. 

It was genuinely awe-inspiring, even with the signs of age and disrepair. The high walls were covered in a classic brocade wall paper. The chandelier hanging above their heads looked as though it was made from stained glass. The floor made up of red and black tile gave a fascinating spiral look. Two elegant staircases on opposite ends of the foyer tied the room together.

They dropped their bags, looking in awe at their surroundings. They were so caught up in how the room looked, that they didn’t notice the pale, transparent head looking down at them from the ceiling.

Jack pulled his head out of the floor with a happy little squeal, “She’s here, I did it! What if she likes me? What if she doesn’t? What would I even say to her? ‘Hi, I’m Jack! I’m a…ghost?’ No, that’s a total disaster. Oh! ‘Yo, I’m Jack. So, give me a four!’” he looked down at his transparent hand. He didn’t know why ghosts only had four fingers, but it had never really bothered him before. Not until now, that is, “God, I’d kill for a pinky,” he was pulled out of his thoughts by the lights above him turning on.

Dean and Claire had made their way to the cellar and found the fuse box. It was covered in spiderwebs, and Dean had made her stand a good few feet away, just in case it was exactly as safe as it looked. Fortunately, nothing happened, except for the lights, “That was easy.”

They made their way back to their abandoned bags as Claire grabbed a couple of hers, “I’m gonna go find my room.”

“Are you gonna be alright alone?”

“If I’m not back in ten days, send a search party,” she sassed, before making her way up the stairs. She wandered down the halls, before stopping outside of a promising looking door. It creaked open and she turned on the light. Inside were three beds. One was extra-long and labeled, ‘Sam.’ Another was pretty average, labeled…’Lucifer?’ yikes. The third was much shorter, marked for ‘Gabriel.’

It wasn’t a bad room, but she had no need for three beds, and it felt weird to sleep in a bed with someone else’s name on it. She turned the light off, and continued her search.

She found her way into another bedroom. This one, thankfully, only had one full bed. There was a private bathroom and a balcony overlooking the ocean below it. The ceiling had a fascinating spiral that centered in the light fixture. It almost looked less dusty than the rest of the house, which she wasn’t going to complain about. This room would be perfect for her. She dropped her bags on the floor and plopped down on the surprisingly comfy mattress, and called out, “Dad! I found my room!”

Dean followed her voice, trying to see over the two boxes he was carrying, marked, ‘Claire’s bedroom.’ “This place is very scary,” he said in a spooky voice, while Claire rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile, “Have you had any surprises yet?”

Claire scoffed, grabbing one of the boxes and moving it to the closet. She might have seen Jack inside of it trying to figure out a way to say hi, if she hadn’t been looking at her father, “Please. This is the deadest place yet.”

“Well, this is a nice room,” he said. He placed the box he was carrying down on the bed, opening it to help Claire get started unpacking. The first thing he pulled out was a framed picture, of a beautiful man with messy dark hair, and the brightest blue eyes.

“Papa goes over here,” she grabbed the picture and carefully placed it on the bedside table, facing the bed. Both so he could watch after her, and she would be able to see him. 

Dean cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the ache that would probably never go away and went back to the box, “I’ll help you unpack.”

“Why bother? We’re just gonna be packing it all back up again in two weeks, right?” Dean just gave her a look and held up his pinky. Claire smiled, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. This place is…fine. I’ll unpack on my own, okay?”

Her Dad nodded, before patting her on the head, “Night Nephie,” she rolled her eyes at the nickname. Dad had always said that Papa was his angel, making her their little Nephilim. Nephie used to be his favorite thing to call her, but it happened less and less over the last two years. It used to annoy her, but now she cherished every time he would call her that. She never knew if it would be the last time.

Deciding not to think about that, she set about unpacking a bit more. The first thing she did was unroll her sleeping bag out on the bed. She didn’t want to sleep in it until they had a chance to wash the sheets. She could speak from experience, there was nothing worse than dusty sheets. Besides, you never knew what types of critters liked to take up residence in them. And judging by the sheer number of cobwebs that covered the place, there were probably a fair number of spiders living in this bed.

She plopped down on the floor, pulling her duffle bag to her. Her dad had gotten her enrolled in school on the drive up, and she would start tomorrow. Hopefully, she would be able to find something comfortable and clean. Maybe even kinda cute, something that would say, ‘you want to be friends with me.’ Just because she hasn’t had much luck at the last three schools, that didn’t mean this one wouldn’t be different.

Digging through her duffle bag, she started separating the clothes into ‘clean’ and ‘dirty’ piles. She was getting so invested in the process, that she didn’t notice the little ghost floating up behind her.

Jack would have gulped if he still had a throat. This was it. This was his chance to make a friend. If he could just manage to say hi. That was the best place to start. He gathered up all of his courage, took a deep breath and—  
A sock was thrown in his mouth. Claire had tossed a pair of socks over her shoulder and somehow managed to hit Jack right in the mouth. He spluttered for a minute and spit it out, accidentally hitting Claire in the back of the head.

Both preteens, living and dead, froze. Jack couldn’t believe his bad luck, while Claire hesitantly got to her feet and looked behind her. 

“Uh…hi?” Jack stammered out, nervously. 

Claire’s eyes widened, before rolling back in her head as she fell over in a dead faint. 

Jack groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead, “Oh, man,” he rushed over to the sink in the adjacent bathroom, “First impressions are so important and I managed to make her faint. I am such a jerk!” the little ghost pried the creaky faucet, knocking on the pipes until the rusty water finally cleared up. He grabbed the cleanest towel he could find and soaked it for a few seconds. He quickly floated back over to his new roommate and wrung out the towel over her face. 

Claire started to come to as she felt the water dripping onto her forehead. She opened her eyes to see a translucent, barely shaped figure with bright eyes floating above her, “Better?” it asked, concerned. 

Claire couldn’t help it. She screamed.

Jack couldn’t help it. He screamed back.

“Honey! Nephie!” Dean came barreling down the hallway when Claire began to scream. Jack disappeared right before Dean went sliding into the room, “Honey, honey, what happened?”

“Dad!” Claire practically leaped into her father’s arms, “Dad! I saw a ghost! It was a real ghost. A real live dead ghost!”

Dean shook his head, and patted her blonde hair, “Slow down. What are you saying?”

“I saw a ghost. It had a head, and it was round, and it was white and see-through.”

“Honey, wait. Now maybe—”

“Dad, please,” Claire pulled back and her blue eyes met green, “Do not think I am as crazy as I thought you were.”

“No, no, no, of course I don’t think you’re crazy. But remember, ghosts can’t hurt you, okay? They’re simply spirits with unfinished business, alright? Now, let’s see about this ghost,” Claire rolled her eyes. Apparently, her father wasn’t quite so open-minded when it came to his own daughter. He went over to the bathroom and opened the door all the way, “Check here…see? No ghost there,” he knelt down by the bed and checked underneath it, “Oh! No, there’s no ghost in there,” he ran over to the closet, “We can even check in there,” he pulled the closet door open, revealing a bashful looking Jack.

Jack gave what he hoped was a winning smile and held out his hand, “Pleasure to meet you, sir!”

Dean Winchester had given up a stable career in pursuit of this. He had dragged his daughter all over the country, declaring left, right, and center that ghosts were real and that he could help them. Yet, despite all of this, he had never actually seen a ghost. 

And so, Dr. Dean Winchester gave out a long and shockingly high-pitched scream, before turning around, throwing his daughter over his shoulder, and running out of the room. 

“Dad! Put me down! What are you doing, this is insane!” Dean ignored her, continuing to scramble through the hallway, “I can walk, you know?”

Dean finally opened a door, and rushed the two of them inside, carefully placing Claire on her feet, “Oh man,” he muttered to himself, “I mean, this is huge.”

“Um…Dad?”

“What?”

“We’re in a closet.”

Dean blindly felt above his head, thankfully finding a hanging Edison light. The dim bulb revealed that, sure enough, they were standing in a coat closet. He looked down at Claire and grabbed her by her upper arms, “Now, I want you to stay in here, no matter what you hear. Do you understand me?” he waited until she nodded before shutting the light off once again and rushing out of the closet.

“Dad, wait!” Claire called before he could close the door again.

“What?” he asked, not really paying much attention.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not believing you. And for thinking you were a total loser.”

Dean’s face softened, and he said, “Ah honey—” he cut himself off, looking back down the hall towards the room with the ghost, “Apologize later,” he said before shutting the door, and taking off.

\--

Jack floated in his room, slapping his forehead over and over again while repeating, “Blew it, blew it, blew it.”

He was pulled out of his embarrassment by a frightening wind starting to blow, and ghoulish laughter ringing through the house, “Uh oh…it’s them.”

\--

Three glowing entities appeared outside of the front door, the shortest one laughing to himself, while holding on to a large donut, “Man, oh, man, haunted houses are a lot more fun when we make sure they’re actually haunted!” he proudly proclaimed, while the other two nodded in agreement. They were still laughing when their little nephew, Jack popped through the door.

“Hey guys,” he sounded a bit too excited to see them, “Have fun?” he asked, enthusiastically.

Lucifer, the proudly middle-sized specter raised a brow, “Well, sure on a scale of one to ten, with ten being fun, and one being Sam,” the tallest ghost grabbed the rest of the donut out of Gabriel’s ghostly hands, and threw it at Lucifer, who skillfully dodged the flung pastry, “Yeah, we had fun.”

Sam looked down at his nephew, “Why aren’t you inside doing your chores?”

“Yeah, when’s dinner? Look at me, I’m wasting away to nothing,” Gabriel said, mournfully, turning to the side and showing his eternally protruding midsection. Ghosts were curious things. They could still eat if they wanted to. Some did so for a memory of life, like Sam. Some for something to do, like Lucifer. And some just loved to eat, like Gabriel. Jack didn’t care so much about eating, but he was in charge of making sure his uncles were fed and keeping the house sufficiently spooky while not a miserable place to live. 

“How about you guys relax out here, and tonight we’ll eat al fresco?” Jack suggested.

“Sounds great,” Lucifer agreed, before asking, “Who’s that?”

Sam ignored him and leaned down to get on his level, “You wouldn’t be trying to keep us out of the house now, would you?”

“No, no, it’s just such a lovely night that I thought we’d have fun eating under the full moon.”

The ghostly trio shared a look with each other. Gabriel smirked and grabbed Jack. With a quick move and a wave of energy, he sent the young ghost flying up towards the full moon above them, leaving his three laughing uncles behind. 

They burst open the front door and floated into the house. As they headed to the kitchen, Sam stopped short, putting his long arms out to keep the other two from moving forward, “Hey, Lucifer, do you smell something?”

Lucifer sniffed the air, and glared at Gabriel, “Yeah.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Besides him,” he clarified, yelping a bit when Gabriel slapped his translucent arm. 

Before either ghost could answer, they heard a voice from above. A distinctly living voice, “Hello?”

The apparitions each shared a rather fiendish grin. It was time for their favorite game. 

\--

Dean carefully slunk down the hallway back towards the room Claire had claimed as her own, the corridor in front of him illuminated by the single flashlight he carried, “Hello? Hello? There’s no need to be afraid,” Dean scoffed at himself, and muttered under his breath, “Yeah, Dean. That’s the idea, don’t be afraid,” he raised his voice again, calling out to the spook, “I would like to make contact with you, but just one little thing, please. Don’t go popping out of keyholes or out from under rugs, okay? No spooking,” he chuckled to himself, trying to lighten the mood as he stood outside the bedroom door, “I think we can get beyond that. Now, I’m coming into the room, now. I’m in…in the room. Can ya deal with that?”

“Can you?” a voice growled out behind him. 

Dean whirled around to see three terrifying, red-eyed, sharp-toothed monstrous entities standing mere inches away from his face. 

Now, Dean was a simple man. He had a daughter he adored, a career that (shockingly) paid the bills. He was sure he was one step closer to being reunited with the love of his life, and now he had definite proof that ghosts were real and that his career was valid. Dean Winchester certainly had much to live for, and so he did what any person in his situation would do. He braced himself, and ran straight through the ghosts. 

It wasn’t a comfortable sensation, but at least he was through. He ran down the corridor, barely registering Claire’s worried yells. He felt the ghosts chasing him until he reached the top of the staircase. 

One of the apparitions gave a hard yank to his flannel shirt, causing him to spin around, batting his arms in an attempt to get them away from him. Unfortunately, his jerky movements ended with him tripping over a terribly placed vacuum cleaner and fall onto the top step. He swore at himself for being so stupid. He had only put the vacuum there because he wanted to clean up his and Claire’s rooms before they were slept in. He had actually just barely found an outlet for it when Claire had screamed about that first ghost. 

Now, he was about to become some stupid statistic on preventable accidents. He felt himself begin to roll, and frantically grabbed at the closest thing available. The fitted rug for the staircase.

He thought he was in the clear, when he heard the terrifying sound of the studs keeping the carpet in place begin to pull free from the floor below it. 

He rolled down the flight of thirty-eight stairs, keeping ahold of the corner of the rug the entire way down. Fortunately, he was rolled in the carpet during this, the thick material protecting him from the dangerous fall. He heard the three ghosts heckling his situation as they watched him fall, heard their mocking laughter as he hit the floor, with the momentum of his descent forcing him to keep rolling, until he reached the end of the carpet. 

The three ghosts stood above him, each one armed with a sword. In unison, the trio said, “All for one, and one for all.”

Before the smallest one finished it up with, “Catch your pants before they fall,” the tallest ghost in the middle made a skilled move with his sword, aiming at Dean’s belt. The ghost was quick, but Dean was pissed. He dodged easily and looked for a convenient place to think of what he should do about this. 

There! Off to the side of the foyer was an open door, leading to what was obviously a bathroom. He booked it over, and shut the door behind him. Just as he slammed the lock shut, the three swords ripped through the wood, narrowly missing his head. 

Okay, now it was personal.

The three ghosts floated outside the door, laughing at the fun they were having at the expense of their newest intruder. They were almost impressed, though. Most often, all they had to do was show their faces before some new ghost hunter went screaming out of the nearest window. This one had actually stayed longer than anyone else has before. 

They were interrupted from their musings by the bathroom door swinging open.

Dean faced his trio of enemies and held aloft his most powerful weapon. A weapon known far and wide as something dangerous and vile, something that no sane being, living or dead, would want to be touched by. A used toilet plunger.

The tallest ghost rolled his eyes, and showed a pretty impressive ‘bitch face’ despite not really having any discernable features, “Well, well, well. It looks like we’re gonna go into sudden death overtime.”

Each ghost floated over to the umbrella stand resting by the door, and grabbed a new weapon. They floated against the Doctor, prepared to fight. 

“Anybody hungry for a little shish ka-doc?” Lucifer asked with a grin as he swung his newly acquired cane.

“I am!” Gabriel readily agreed, waving his umbrella in the air. The trio backed the Doctor up to the foot of the same staircase he had just rolled down. He stared each one dead in the eye, pardon the pun, and fended off their attacks with the plunger. Eventually, the rubber head connected with Sam’s face, the suction making it impossible for Sam to pull free. Dean pulled, stretching the apparition’s neck before giving a harsh tug. The spirit went flying out of the foyer with a yelp of pain as the other two refocused their attack. Dean climbing the stairs backwards, as he fended off the ghosts.

“En Garde!” Gabriel declared as he and Lucifer continued the fight. Lucifer smirked and shoved the tip of the cane into the Doctor’s exposed armpit, earning himself a whack with the plunger. Gabriel took the opportunity to try and use his umbrella against Dean, but the living man ducked just in time. The makeshift weapon ended up opening up in Lucifer’s mouth, causing him to go flying back as he tried to sort himself out. Dean took advantage of Gabriel being unarmed, and used the plunger as a baseball bat, sending the smallest ghost flying. 

Sam came back just in time to see this, and became angry. He floated back over to the intruder and glared at him, armed with a new cane, “Who do you think you are, defiling our domicile?”

Dean gave a winning smile as he introduced himself, matching each word with a defensive strike, “Dr. Dean…Winchester…your…therapist.”

\--

Claire had enough of waiting. She furiously pounded at the door, calling out for her father with no success. She had heard so many weird things, and just wanted to make sure he was okay. The blonde backed up as far as she could, bracing herself to try and ram the door open with all the force of her twelve-year-old body. 

What she didn’t know as she prepared to break the door down was that a small ghost had finally made it back to the mansion, and had heard her yells. Jack floated over to the closet she was stuck in as fast as he could, opening the door just as she was throwing herself at it. 

Claire was shocked when, instead of making contact with a hard wooden door, she kept going. She fell, landing on what felt like just a pillow of very cold air. She looked down, seeing that same ghost that had been in her bedroom. 

“Are you okay?” it asked, worried about her fall.

Claire’s eyes widened and she jumped off the ghost. She ran down the hall, calling out for her dad. She found her way to the staircase, opposite of the one she had originally used and tore down them into the foyer. Claire couldn’t believe her eyes. 

“Dad?”

Her dad was there, standing at the top of the other staircase. He was using a toilet plunger to fence with a ghost armed with a cane, and if Claire was being honest, he was doing a pretty good job.

Dean and Sam were actually pretty evenly matched, although Sam’s form was beginning to suffer the longer they fought, mainly due to sheer annoyance that this bone bag was lasting against him. 

Sam growled and lunged at the Doctor, but his own impatience was his own undoing. Dean grabbed the end of the cane and sent the tall ghost flying away once more. As he disappeared, Gabriel was revealed, having hidden behind Sam, while licking at an oversized lollipop in an attempt to calm his anxiety. It didn’t work. He didn’t want to fight this bizarre fleshy anymore. The short ghost gave a nervous chuckle, and did the first thing that came to mind.

He threw the lollipop at Dean’s head. 

Dean wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but a large, sticky, hard projectile to suddenly slam into his forehead was not it. The shock caused him to drop his plunger and fall to the ground at the top of the stairs.

“Ha! He’s down for the count!” Gabriel laughed, honestly shocked that had even worked. Lucifer and Sam floated back. The three were ready to continue the battle, a bit more wary, but nonetheless determined to win. 

When Dean’s head finally cleared, he realized he had landed on the same vacuum cleaner that had made him fall down the stairs in the first place. Thinking fast, he grabbed the hose, thankful that he had thought to plug it in. 

He jumped to his feet, holding the hose in front of him in defense, “Get back!” he demanded. 

“What the Hell is that thing?” Lucifer asked, genuinely confused and even a little curious. 

Dean ignored the question in favor of kicking on the vacuum, praying that the outlet he had plugged it into was functional. He had never been so relieved to hear that familiar loud ‘whirring’ of the vacuum. He smiled, and pointed it at the tallest ghost, honestly having no idea what was about to happen, but needing to try.

Fortunately, something did happen. The vacuum caught onto whatever these things were made of, and started to pull Sam in by the face, “Not the nose!” he screamed as he was dragged through the hose and into the vacuum.

Dean turned the vacuum on Gabriel next, “I’m being hosed!”

Lucifer watched the other two disappear and tried to get away, but the force from the vacuum grabbed onto him. He tried to stay out, but wasn’t able to fight it, “This thing sucks!” was the last thing he said before disappearing from sight. 

Dean was shocked, but also pretty proud of himself. He gave a tired chuckle, and blew on the end of the hose, as if blowing smoke off a gun. 

Claire came running up the stairs, “Dad! Are you okay?” she asked, running into her father’s arms to give him an eagerly returned hug. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” he answered, patting her head, “Why don’t we try to go to sleep, huh? I don’t think they’ll figure out how to get out of there for a little while.” Claire nodded and the two carefully helped each other down the stairs, both very shaken up by the strange way their night had gone. They could hear the three ghosts yelling from where they were stuck, but both decided they were better off ignoring it.

Meanwhile, the ghostly trio were not having a good time.

“Hey, man get your hand out of my mouth!” 

“Oh, come on! Who let one?!”

“Who do you think!?”

“Hey, who’s got their pointy head in my—”

“That’s not my head.”

“Ow!”

“You know, fellows, we’re never this close anymore.”

\--

The next morning, Claire found her way down to the kitchen, armed with a dust buster for defense. She peeked around the door, finger on the power switch, ready to protect herself. Fortunately, the room looked clear of anyone, living or dead. 

She finally felt brave enough to put down the dust buster, and so, naturally, that was when the ghost popped up.

“Good morning!” he said, cheerfully, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. When he saw her eyes widen and knew she was about to scream, he quickly wrapped himself around her face, cutting her off, “Oh, no, no! Please don’t scream, I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m a ghost, yes. I admit it, but I’m a friendly ghost! You have to trust me. If you scream, you’ll wake up my uncles, and they get awfully cranky,” Jack waited until her eyes got a little less wide, “I’m gonna let you go now, okay?” as soon as she nodded, he unwrapped himself, and floated a few feet away, trying to appear as harmless as possible. 

Claire rubbed her face where he had just been, “You’re so cold,” she observed, trying not to shiver. 

Jack chuckled, “Yeah, but it saves on the heating bill,” Claire just raised an eyebrow, causing the ghost to awkwardly clear his throat. He floated over to the large kitchen table, and pulled out a chair at the head, “Come on,” he offered, ever a gentleghost, “It’s okay,” he added, seeing how she looked a bit hesitant.

She slowly walked over to the table, not taking her eyes off the ghost. She passed the chair he was offering in favor of sitting kitty corner to it, on the side where two places were already set, “I can see right through you,” she said.

Jack laughed a bit, “It kinda happens when you don’t have any skin.”

“What are you made of?”

“Well…you know that tingling feeling when your foot falls asleep?” Claire nodded, not quite sure where he was going with that, “I think I’m made of that,” he didn’t have any other way to explain it, because he genuinely didn’t know. He just knew he remembered the feeling from when he was alive, and that was how he felt all the time.

Before Claire could ask another question, a bell gave a small ‘ding’ as Jack’s reminder it was time to cook breakfast. He floated over to the stove, lighting a burner and donning a chef’s hat. He figured that this could be a good way to show off to Claire. Maybe make her a bit less scared of him. The less afraid she was, the more likely it was she might want to be his friend. He skillfully cracked an egg onto the frying pan.

Claire interrupted, “Sunny side up kinda makes me gag.”

“No problem,” he grabbed the spatula waiting off to the side, and quickly scrambled the egg, before flipping some pancakes he had already been working on before Claire had walked in. He grabbed a crystal glass, and poured her a glass of orange juice. 

Claire watched. She was still a little nervous, but it was hard to be truly scared of little ghost in a chef’s hat, making her breakfast. And to be honest, she was a little impressed with his command of the kitchen, “Can you turn invisible?” she asked, curious.

Jack could tell she was a bit more relaxed than she was before, and was very proud of himself, “That one’s easy,” he said, doing just that as he floated the glass of orange juice over to her. Despite not being quite as afraid, he could tell she was apprehensive over grabbing the glass, “It’s fresh,” he assured her as he moved his hands out of the way, so she wouldn’t have to touch him. She slowly went to grab the glass, and Jack noticed how her hand had moved towards his, as if she was curious about what he felt like, “Go ahead,” he offered.

Claire put down the glass, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Me neither,” Jack shrugged.

“…Can you hurt me?”

Jack thought for a minute, but said, “No.”

“Can I hurt you?”

He didn’t have to think, “No.”

She took a deep breath, but decided to be brave. Her eyes met Jack’s foggy ones, and she held her hand in the air, palm facing the ghost in an obvious invitation. Jack smiled, and slowly reached out to her. 

Their hands met, hers pink and warm, his clear, small and translucent. His hand went through her skin, and she shivered at the cold sensation. Neither one had felt this before. Claire had obviously never touched a ghost, and Jack had never been welcome to touch a living person. He couldn’t feel much of anything, physically, but he still had emotions. And the simple gift of gentle physical touch that he had been denied for so long. If he still could, Jack knew that he would be crying.

Claire was feeling the same way, but for different reasons. She rarely ever touched someone other than her father, and even that was rare. Both children felt an overwhelming surge of emotions, and Claire most likely would’ve started to cry if it weren’t for her dad walking into the kitchen.

“Yah!” he screamed, fully prepared to fence with yet another ghost, but this one seemed much calmer than the other three.

“Morning Dr. Winchester!” Jack greeted, quickly floating away from Claire, “Would you like some breakfast?”

Dean glanced at his daughter. She didn’t seem scared, and even gave him an encouraging nod, “…Yeah, okay,” he nervously agreed. The ghost gave a friendly smile and floated back over to the stove. Dean rushed to sit next to Claire, “You okay, Honey?” Claire nodded, obviously as surprised as he was.

Jack plopped two plates with a stack of pancakes, one with a side of scrambled eggs, in front of the family, “Can I get you anything else?”

“Not unless you have an apple pie stashed somewhere in here,” Dean answered, grabbing his utensils and going straight for the food, while Claire sipped her orange juice and rolled her eyes at his only addiction.

“You got it!” Jack declared, happy to be given a task. The little ghost hung up his chef’s cap and floated right through the wall. 

Claire and Dean shared a look over their pancakes, both a little creeped out, but neither one hesitating to eat. Jack was really an amazing chef for a dead person. 

They were so caught up in their breakfast, that they didn’t notice the trio of ghosts sitting in the three set places opposite them. At least, not until a burnt piece of toast hit Dean right smack in the middle of his forehead. The father-daughter duo stared at the ghostly trio across the table.

Dean gave a smile, still reveling over his victory the night before, “Fellas,” he greeted, “good morning.”

Lucifer ignored him, “Jack!” he shouted, just as the little ghost floated in through an open window, a fresh slice of pie sat on a plate in his ghostly hand. 

Jack’s eyes widened at the sight of his uncles sitting across from the living people. He rushed to put the plate on the table next to Dean, before turning to his uncles. Lucifer grabbed the little ghost by the shoulders, “How dare you serve these air-sucking intruders before us!”

“They were up first!” he defended himself, “I already have your breakfast made, just let me go get it!”

Lucifer scoffed, but released his nephew. Jack hurried over to the refrigerator where he had left the three meals. He piled the plates in his arms, one stacked with chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry syrup, with a whipped cream smiley face for Gabriel. Eggs, bacon, sausage, French toast, and coffee for Lucifer. And an egg white spinach omelet for Sam. The three ghosts immediately started tearing into the meals as Jack started to clean the kitchen.

Dean and Claire tried not to look at them as they shoveled their food into their mouths. You could literally see the chewed meals go right through them. Dean just focused on his pie, while Claire tried not to vomit.

Gabriel noticed Jack cleaning the kitchen, “What are you doing? That counter used to be dirty enough to eat off of,” he complained.

“Well, we have company,” Jack explained with the air of a perfect host.

His shortest uncle scoffed, “Oh yeah? Well company loves misery,” he said, knocking the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice onto the floor, creating even more of a mess for the tiny ghost. 

Claire couldn’t take it anymore, and jumped to her feet, “You guys are disgusting, obnoxious creeps!”

“Thank you,” the trio said in unison as they continued to enjoy their breakfast.

“I mean, what’s your problem?! He’s just cleaning the counter!”

Gabriel glared at her and raised to his full, not very impressive, height, “Hey, shut up, Skin bag!”

“Piss off,” she bit back.

“Take a hike.”

“Get a grave.”

Dean jumped up, “Honey!” he grabbed ahold of her while Gabriel snarled at her, “You’ve got that school thing, you don’t wanna be late.”

“Don’t wanna be late,” Gabriel mimicked in a singsong voice.

“Drop dead!” Claire shouted back.

“Too late!”

Dean pushed her through the door, and shut it behind her, “You’re gonna have a lot of fun! I know you will!” he rested his head against the door, knowing he was in for a very long session with this unruly trio of ghosts. He turned around to see all three of them staring at him as they chewed, “All right, guys. We’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot here. Now, you know and I know that you really shouldn’t be here. So, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go ahead and finish your meal, and we can mee in my office, and start the process of crossing over. What do you say?” they answered him with a face full of his own pie. He glared as he wiped the sticky apple off of his face and looked down at his watch, “Well, it’s your hour.”

This was so not worth the money.

\--

Claire walked down the street. Her dad had been sure to point out her new school while they had been driving to the manor, and it really wasn’t too far away. Just down the hill, and about half a mile into town. She was lost in thought, mainly taking in the scenery of her new town, which she had to admit, was kind of adorable.

She was so caught up, that she didn’t hear the bicycle bell ringing behind her, until a boy’s voice hissed at her to watch out. Claire dove into a fence, staring in shock at the boy in the red jacket glaring at her over his shoulder as he rode up the sidewalk, “Henry, wait up!” another bike blew by, this one being controlled by a pretty girl with dark hair and eyes. She smiled apologetically at Claire, before hurrying after her companion.

Claire smiled after her. The guy seemed like a douche, but maybe she could make friends with the pretty girl. 

She made her way into the school, and picked up her schedule and locker assignment from the office. She found her locker easy enough, but opening it was another matter entirely. She was positive she had entered the combination correctly, but no matter how hard she pushed, she couldn’t unlatch it. Just as she was about to give up, a fist came over her should and banged against the door, giving it the push it needed to get free. 

Claire turned to see the pretty girl from earlier standing behind her, “I had that locker last year,” she said with a friendly smile. 

“Thanks,” Claire said, gratefully.

“My name’s Alex,” she said, holding her hand out for a shake. 

“Claire.”

The locker three down from Claire slammed shut, revealing the boy from the bike. Hector? Harry? Henry? Claire didn’t know, and she honestly didn’t care. 

“Come on, Alex,” Herbert said, pulling her away, still glaring at Claire.

Claire rolled her eyes, as she put her things in her locker. She grabbed her binder and trusty mechanical pencil that had been with her for the last six schools and hurried to find her class. Fortunately for her, it was actually pretty close, and she noticed Alex and Henry sitting by the window. Everyone seemed pretty comfortable where they were, so she just found the closest abandoned looking seat. 

She had just made herself comfortable when the teacher, a large man with a thick beard, and an equally thick Louisiana accent came in.

“Okay, settle down,” Mr. Lafitte said, “Put a lid on it!” he waited until the class quieted, before continuing, “Now, I have a few announcements to make before we get started. First, the asbestos removal from the gym is taking longer than planned. Unfortunately, we have to push the Halloween dance back by a couple of months.”

The class groaned, but Henry raised his hand and jumped to his feet before Mr. Lafitte could say anything, “Well, as most of you know, my parents have finished the new boathouse. So, I’m sure it would be no problem having the party at my place,” he said with a winning smile. Despite his obvious impression that he was well liked, his solution to the problem was met with nothing more than a few awkward, unenthusiastic claps. Nevertheless, Henry’s smile widened and he bounced back to his seat as if he was being met with thunderous applause. 

“Great,” Mr. Lafitte obviously didn’t care and wanted to get the rest of the announcements over with, so he could get on with the class, “That’s done. Secondly, we have a new student today. I’d like you all to meet,” he looked at the paper with her name, reading it for the first time since the secretary had given it to him, “Winchester Claire,” he didn’t realize he had mixed up the names until the class started to laugh. He looked towards the back of the room where a young blond girl sat, head in her hands at the embarrassing first impression, “Would you like to come up here and say ‘hi’ to everyone for me?”

If Claire was being honest, that was the last thing she wanted to do. This was the thing she hated the most about new schools. The awkward introduction. She sighed, but stood and slunk her way to the front of the classroom, trying to ignore the whispers of the other students. She reached the front of the class and avoided looking out into the sea of judgmental twelve-year olds. Before she could get it over with, something unexpected caught her eye. In the poster of Mt. Rushmore, where Lincoln’s head should be, was Jack. He was just floating there, trying to match the face on the poster. When he saw her looking at him, he gave her a big smile and an encouraging nod.

“So, why don’t you tell us something special about yourself, Claire?” Mr. Lafitte asked after a few seconds of her not saying anything.

“Um...well…I guess I just moved here with my dad, from Kansas. And um…Friendship seems like a pretty…friendly place,” she said lamely. Her face burned as someone started to fake snore from the back of the class.

Mr. Lafitte gave them a look, and asked his new student, “So, where are you guys living?”

“In outer space?” Henry suggested, with a sneer. Claire could tell he already hated her, though she had no idea why. As the rest of the class chuckled at the oh so witty remark, no one noticed as an invisible source snuck around under the desks, stealthily tying their shoelaces together.

Claire rolled her eyes, “No. Hunters Manor,” the laughter finally stopped and each student stared up at her in disbelief, “You’ve heard of it,” she should have known. 

One student, who Claire was pretty sure was the same one to snore, eagerly leaned forward, “You actually live there?”

“Yeah. I know it looks kind of funky and stuff from the outside. But, I mean, I don’t know—inside it’s kind of cool,” she wasn’t really lying. The house was beautiful and, the ghosts really weren’t all that bad once you got to know them. 

“Well, yeah, if you drink blood,” Henry piped up again, earning himself a slap on the arm from Alex.

The other students ignored him as someone sitting solidly in the middle said, “Mr. Lafitte, how does this sound; the Halloween dance is screwed, right? This girl has a seriously creepy house with room to spare.”

Claire’s eyes widened; she hadn’t expected this turn of events. Before she could say anything, Henry jumped to his feet once again, “Wait a minute, wait a minute! I thought we were having the party at my place,” when nobody said anything, he continued, “Oh, okay, we’ll take a vote. Whoever wants the party at my house, raise your hand,” he put his hand in the air, and glared at his classmates when not one of them followed him.

“Hunters manor?” Mr. Lafitte said, already knowing the answer.

Every hand in the class shot up, with a resounding ‘yeah!’ that settled it. Now, they could finally get to work.

And when the bell finally rang to dismiss the class, and everyone went tumbling to the floor, no one could explain how everyone’s shoelaces got tied together. Everyone that is, except for Claire. 

\--

Sam pulled a framed diploma out of the moving box marked ‘fragile,’ “Johns Hopkins University? Very impressive.”

“Very,” Lucifer agreed, before shouting, “Pull!” Sam threw the diploma in the air and Lucifer took his shot. His ghostly bullet made contact, shattering the glass.

“Pull!” Gabriel commanded from the other side of the study Dean was making his office.

The living man in question didn’t really care. He was too busy setting his other things up to really care. He only had the diploma framed because Cas had been so proud, and wanted to keep the certificate on display. Dean couldn’t blame him. He knew he wouldn’t have made it through university if Cas hadn’t been there. His Angel was the only one who believed he was smarter than he was. So no, the diploma didn’t matter to him. He had his certificate, but had lost his credibility, so what did it matter?

Speaking of Cas though, Dean suddenly remembered his favorite picture of him had been in that box. 

He remembered right in the nick of time, he realized as he caught the wooden frame holding the picture, “Not! Not…this one. Thank you, gentlemen.”

The ghosts gathered to look over his shoulder, curious about what had finally made him stop. The picture was of a man, with messy black hair, and the softest blue eyes. He had tan skin and was a bit scruffy, but not in an unkempt way. He had that look to him that implied that he was a little eccentric. Sam figured it was the eyes. They didn’t seem to be noticing anything, but they were still focused. Gabriel thought it was the smile. A small little thing, obviously not a common occurrence. Lucifer knew it was the combination. 

“Awe, he’s cute,” Gabriel said, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“The dear husband, perhaps?” Sam said, knowingly.

Lucifer grinned, “Hubba hubba,” he howled, teasingly, earning himself a slap from Sam in the process.

“Lucifer, you animal!” he smirked at the doctor, “He available, Doc?”

Dean was getting a bit annoyed, “He’s my husband, Castiel. He’s…deceased.”

“Even better,” Lucifer said, reaching for the picture. None of them were serious. It was just another way to rile up their newest…intruder? Therapist? Housemate?

Dean jerked away from the trio, setting the picture safely on his desk, “But, we’re not here to talk about me.”

Sam turned to the other two, “See? Now don’t you feel just awful?”

“I was just goofin’.” Lucifer defended.

“Don’t be goofin’ on Cas. He’s as nice a person as they come. He’s always treated you right, huh, Gabriel?” Dean looked up from where he was unpacking what was left from his pictures. Did these ghosts…know Cas? Was Cas really a ghost? Would they tell him anything?

“I got no complaints. He’s always been an angel to me,” Gabriel answered. 

“Wait a minute,” Dean said, drawing their attention, “What are you saying?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m saying, he’s a peach. None better. Why?”

Dean could barely breath, “You’ve actually seen him?”

The trio shared a confused look. Hadn’t they made that clear? Sam looked back at the therapist, “What, you think I’m blind? Of course, I’ve seen him. Who hasn’t?”

Lucifer realized, “You’re not looking for him, are ya, Doc?”

Dean sputtered for a moment, “Well, that’s not really the focus of our sessions here, is it?” the ghosts nodded in agreement, but Dean continued, “But as long as you raised the issue…you wouldn’t have any way…of…contacting others like yourselves…would you?”

They hmm’d among themselves for a second. Should they, or shouldn’t they? They decided, as they usually do, that they should. Dean took their silence as refusal, “Didn’t think so,” he said, before turning his back on the ghosts. The three of them rushed around so they were facing him once more.

“That’s not generally allowed, Dean,” Sam said, “You gotta go through channels.”

“Paper work,” Gabriel clarified.

“Red tape,” Lucifer said, bored with the hole system.

“A holy mess, you know what we’re saying?” Sam continued, “But for you…I don’t know. Maybe we can work something out. If you can keep that demon Abaddon off our backs, then I’d say we got a deal. Right boys?” the other two ghosts nodded in agreement, “Deal?” Sam offered, raising his intangible hand.

Dean didn’t even need to think on it, “Deal,” he agreed, shaking the cold, weightless hand. 

“Gabriel, you know where Castiel floats. Go!” Sam ordered, and Gabriel was off in a flash. 

“It’s that easy, huh?” Dean asked, in disbelief. He honestly didn’t trust these spooks, but a chance was a chance, and he wanted to see Castiel more than he wanted anything. 

“We got a ghost to ghost network,” Sam said, holding up a ghostly laptop.

“We share haunting stories, we throw parties,” Lucifer said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“The parties are always pretty dead, though,” Lucifer added with a laugh. before they could say anything else, three knocks rang through the room.

Sam looked at Dean, “That was fast.”

A glowing white light appeared through the cracks of the door where Gabriel had disappeared to.

“I think it’s for you, Doc,” Lucifer said, before both sets of cold hands pushed him to the doors.

As Dean pushed the doors open, he dared to allow himself to hope they were telling the truth.

And as Gabriel, wearing a red dress for some reason, happily yelled out, “My man!” and rushed to give him a big kiss on the lips, Dean knew that it had been stupid to believe a word any of these three ghosts had to say to him. 

\--

Claire walked into the study where her dad had set up his office. It was a mess, with shattered glass and random debris flung around. She could only assume his session with Jack’s uncles went great.

Dean looked up and gave her a tired smile, “Hey, Nephie. How was the first day? Make any friends?”

“…Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I might have a chance to make friends.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point.

“Well…I was sort of volunteered to host the school’s Halloween dance.”

Dean blinked once, twice. That was certainly not what he thought she would say, “When you say host…you mean DJ, or something? At the school gym, right?”

“Not exactly…when they found out where I lived, they decided to have the party here. The school gym has asbestos, and if we don’t have it here, it would have to be at this really annoying, snobby boy who already hates me for some reason. I honestly just don’t want him to get what he wants, and this would be a great chance to make tons of friends, and introduce myself to the school. I would technically be saving the dance, and everyone was super excited to be able to have the Halloween dance in an actual haunted house, and—”

“Claire, chill. Take a breath, or you’re gonna pass out,” Dean interrupted. He would be lying if he said he liked the idea, but he knew how hard it was for Claire to make friends, and she was right about this being a good opportunity for her. He would figure out a way to get the ghostly trio to leave her alone for the night, “Would we need to buy food, or decorations?”

“No. Mr. Lafitte, my teacher, talked to me about it after school. He said that the student council would show up early to decorate, and they would also have food and drinks. It’s apparently against school rules for a parent to supply food. Something about not knowing allergies, and not knowing what the parent might have put in the food? I don’t know, it seems weird to me, but what do I know? I’ve never been to a dance, and you’ve never been a part of the PTA. We literally just have to take their word for it. Mr. Lafitte even said they would clean up the party afterwards. The only thing we would have to do is supply the place. Is it okay?” she asked, widening her big blue eyes that she knew were so similar to Papa’s. Her Dad had never been able to resist either of them. 

Dean sighed, knowing he was beat, “Fine. I’m not thrilled about it, but there’s no reason to say no. I’ll take care of Sam, Gabriel, and Lucifer, okay?”

Claire’s face lit up in a bright smile, “Thanks Dad!” she wrapped her arms around his neck in a huge hug. They stayed that way for a few seconds before pulling apart, “How did your first session go with them?” she added an extra emphasis on ‘them.’

Before Dean could answer, there was a knock at the door. They shared a look, shocked. The knock wasn’t coming from the study door, but the front. Who would come to Hunters Manor for a social call? “I’ll get it,” Claire said, leaving the room.

Judging by everyone’s reaction whenever this place was mentioned, she was positive that no one would ever come to visit. Not before the Halloween dance, at least. But as she pulled the door open, she was very pleasantly surprised to see Alex, the pretty girl from school, “Alex? What are you do—I mean, hi.”

Alex smiled, awkwardly, “Can I come in?”

Claire panicked for a second, turning to look in the foyer, hoping not to see any of the resident spooks. But there was Jack, floating harmlessly right behind her. And she knew that if the other three heard another living person come into the house, they wouldn’t hesitate to try to scare her, “Uh…no,” she stepped out onto the porch, pulling the heavy door shut behind her. She stepped just far enough forward that Alex had no choice but to turn and follow her, unless they wanted to talk back to back, “It’s so much nicer out here…out in the fles-FRESH air,” she awkwardly tried to explain away her rudeness, hoping she didn’t notice her little slip of the tongue. She turned back to her visitor and felt her eyes widening when she saw Jack’s head peeking through the woold door, obviously eavesdropping on her.

“So, did you ask your dad about the party?”

“Yeah, yeah. He, um, wasn’t thrilled, if I’m gonna be honest, but he said it would be okay.”

Alex nodded, and began fiddling with the ends of her long, dark hair, “Listen, if you don’t have any other plans, do you wanna hang out with me at the party? I think it would be fun, and I really wanna get to know you.”

The rest of Jack’s body burst through the door, and he frantically shook his head, eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t want to lose his only friend, and the only person who wasn’t scared of him.

Claire ignored him, “That would be great!”

“Cool,” Alex said with a wide smile, before going to step off the porch, “I’ve gotta head home, but I’ll see you at school.”

“See ya!” Claire said, giddy. She might have a friend. 

\--

Alex wasn’t happy as she made her way down the cracked pathway leading away from the manor’s front door. Henry was waiting for her right outside the gate, “So, did you ask her?”

“Yes.”

“And she actually believed you?” he asked in disbelief.

“I don’t like this,” she said with a glare before walking away from him. Henry had been her friend for years, but he was just becoming terrible the older they got. She actually liked Claire, what little she knew about her so far, and really did want to get to know her. But Henry was making her ask to hang out, only to not show up and hurt her feelings at the dance. She didn’t know why he hated her so much, but he did, and she was still loyal to her friend, however jerky he was acting. As much as Alex wanted to get to know Claire, Henry was her oldest friend. 

“Well, that just sucks for you. Because I love this.”

\--

That night, as Claire put her long blonde hair up in a ponytail so she could sleep, Jack kept popping up. 

“See, I’m a good dancer,” from insider the music box where she kept her scrunchie, “Woah!” he squealed as the small form inside span around unexpectedly. She shook her head, shutting the box and walking over to her dresser, “Don’t need a costume!” she shut the drawer in his face, and went to the closet, getting more and more annoyed. Jack had been at this for hours, ever since Alex had left. As she pulled open the door, she jumped back, obviously startled as a bunch of balloons burst out, “I’m always the life of the party,” he said, very seriously.

“Jack, listen. I know you wanna go,” she said, giving up and making her way back to the vanity.

“We’d have a great time together.”

“Jack, I have plans.”

“Well, what does this Alex girl got that I don’t, huh?”

Claire raised a brow, “A pulse?”

“Big fleshy deal.”

“A tan.”

“Very bad for your skin,” he gave his translucent arm a sassy slap.

Claire shook her head, before giving the mirror a very pointed look, “How about a reflection?”

Jack gave the mirror a look, before acknowledging, “Okay, okay,” he got quiet for a second before leaping off the vanity, “But can he do this?!” he floated over to the center of the room. He stuck a finger in his mouth, and blew, looking like he was trying to get his ears to pop. Instead of that, however, his chest expanded, until he looked like a ghostly Superman, cape and all with a large blue ‘J’ on his chest. He turned to Claire and said in a pretty impressive Arnold Schwarzenegger accent, “Come with me if you want to live.”

“Jack, no!” Claire argued as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, “Jack, no! No, no, no!” she tried to stop him from pulling her over to the room’s balcony. Jack started to lift her up, but he was a bit too slow and her foot knocked against the railing hard enough to cause both of their grips to loosen. Claire went tumbling out of the window, down to the harsh ocean very, very far below her. She screamed as the water came closer and closer to her, before she felt something grab her foot, and the ocean, thankfully, began to recede as Jack pulled her up by her ankle, “Jack, no! Oh my God, this is high! This is very high! Jack! Jack!” Jack continued to ignore her screams as he flew them both over the ocean.

Claire was finally able to relax when he set her down on top of a lighthouse, the same one she was able to see from her balcony. It was interesting to see the house from here, and she had to admit, the view of the ocean was beautiful. But as she and Jack sat next to each other, she didn’t say a word.

Jack sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drop you. I didn’t mean to scare you, either. I just wanted to show you things the way I see them, but I shouldn’t have done it how I did. I really am sorry.”

Claire was quiet for another few minutes, “I’m not gonna say it’s fine, because you really did scare me. My main problem is that you didn’t listen when I was very clearly saying no, I don’t like this. I know I’ll be able to forgive you for this, but if you ever ignore a clear ‘no’ again, I will never speak to you again.”

Jack nodded, “I completely understand. I will always respect your ‘no’s from now on. I promise.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Claire smiled, “It was kinda cool to fly above the ocean like that, but when we go back, I don’t want to be upside down, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack eagerly agreed with a wide smile. They went back to looking at the water.

“Jack, this is beautiful.”

“I come here every night.”

“Alone?”

“Mm-hmm.”

They sat in silence before Claire decided to ask something that had been on her mind for a few days now, “What were you like when you were alive?”

“I was—I was—I don’t remember,” Jack honestly sounded shocked, as if he had never thought about it before.

“You don’t remember anything from your life?” Claire also, couldn’t quite believe it. It sounded awful, not knowing anything about yourself. 

“No.”

“So…nothing?”

“No.”

“You don’t remember what school you went to; how old you were? Your favorite song?” He just shook his head, sadly, to each question, “What about your dad?” Claire’s father was the most important person to her. She couldn’t imagine not being able to remember him. It was as unthinkable as forgetting the memories of her Papa.

“Hm-mmm,” he murmured, still shaking his head.

“Not even your mom?”

Jack sighed, “No…is that bad?”

“No. It’s just kind of sad. In a way, I understand it, though. I don’t remember my mom, either.”

“You had a mom?” Jack asked, genuinely shocked. He had only heard of Claire and her dad talking about another father. 

“Yeah, but I never met her,” Claire answered, “My Papa said she left when I was a few months old. She didn’t die or anything, she just decided she didn’t want a family anymore,” Claire was nothing but ‘matter of fact’ it didn’t hurt her that she wasn’t wanted by a woman she had no memories of. She had found the letter her birth mother had left her Papa shortly after he died. It just said that this wasn’t the life she wanted, and she was leaving to find it. She would sign over all of her parental rights, just so long as Castiel would let her go, and with a heavy heart, he had, “Then Papa met Dad when I was about three. Dad used to love to talk about how he had fallen in love the second a tiny me kicked him in the shin. I dropped a toy, and he had had the audacity to pick it up for me. Papa couldn’t apologize enough, and Dad said he could apologize with a cup of coffee, and a slice of pie. Dad always said he fell in love with Papa over that one cup of coffee. So…I guess you don’t need to remember your family, but I do wish you could remember the people you loved. I do wonder why you can’t remember anything, though…”

Jack thought for a moment, “I guess cause, when you’re a ghost, life doesn’t matter that much anymore. So, you forget. I don’t remember anyone or anything about when I was alive, but when you die, you keep your emotions, and there are some things you know, even if you don’t know why. It’s like with my uncles. I know that Lucifer and Gabriel were brothers, but not Sam. And I know that Sam is touchier with Gabriel, and closer to him, but none of us know why. Maybe they were like your Dad and Papa? And we know that we all lived in the manor, but it wasn’t only us. I remember being happy. I don’t know who loved me, but I do know that I was loved, and loved deeply. Even if that’s all I’ll ever remember or know, I’ll cherish it until the day I cross over.”

\--

About an hour later, Claire was curled up on her bed, exhausted from the emotional conversation. Jack floated next to her. He knew she was nearly asleep, so was very surprised when she suddenly said, “Sometimes I worry that I’m starting to forget.”

“Like what?”

“Like my Papa. Just certain things. Like the sound of him making breakfast in the morning. The way he would always greet dad with, ‘Hello Dean,’ the way he was never able to tie his tie correctly. It was always just a little bit crooked. Dad would just say it was part of his charm. I do remember…the way he always smelled like he had been outside in the cold. His hugs were always so warm, but he would just smell cold. I actually love it whenever Dad would move us somewhere cold after he died. Whenever it would snow, I could just go outside, and breath in deep. It was like I was hugging him again…” she trailed off, lost in thought, before asking a question she was almost scared to hear the answer to, “Jack…if my Papa’s a ghost, did he forget about me?”

Jack stared at her, just for a moment before answering, “No. He’d never forget about you,” and he believed it. Claire was special. The type of person who would stay in your heart long after you parted. If you were lucky enough to know her and love her, your heart wouldn’t let you forget her, “Claire,” she sleepily hummed in acknowledgement, “If I were alive, would you go to the Halloween dance with me?”

“Mm-hmm,” she was obviously too sleepy to really listen.

“Claire…” he leaned close to her, and shyly whispered, “Can I keep you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jack smiled. He knew she had probably not heard him, but he knew that if he had a heart it would be beating like crazy. He leaned down, and placed a painfully gentle kiss on her cheek. Claire shivered, “Jack, could you close the window, it’s cold.” Jack’s face fell at the reminder that, no matter what he did, or how hard he wished, he would never be warm to her. Not like her Papa. Not even like Alex. He sighed, and floated to the foot of the bed, far from her bare skin. He curled up, and went to sleep, visions of dancing and thoughts of warmth keeping him company throughout the night. 

\--

On Halloween, Claire cheerfully made her way down to the kitchen, “Hey Dad!” she greeted, startling Dean and causing him to spill a bit of the much-needed coffee he had been pouring, “Sorry about that,” Dean just waved her off, and she went to sit down next to him. She held up a blue credit card, “I found your Visa card.”

He hadn’t even known he had lost it, “Where was it?”

“…In your wallet,” Dean’s eyes shot up to hers, but she just continued, “Um, I was thinking that maybe I could use it to buy this perfect costume I saw in a store downtown?”

“You always make your costume,” her dad said absently as he blotted at the coffee remains on the papers he had been looking over while he ate.

“No. Papa did.”

“Oh. Well, I think I could come up with something pretty good. Why don’t we just roll you up in aluminum foil, and you could go as a leftover?” Dean laughed, but Claire just looked at him with a blank stare before shaking her head. Dean sighed, and smiled at her, “Don’t worry. You always look cute.”

Claire cringed a bit, “I don’t wanna look cute. Cute’s like when you’re nine years old, and you’ve got papier-mache around your head. Or when you’re wearing a sheet with holes cut out for the eyes. I wanna look nice…like, grown up nice.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and his heart stopped for a second. His little girl was talking about looking grown up. What was next? Dating? Oh, he wasn’t looking forward to this discussion, “Honey, I think maybe it’s time that we…. sat down and—”

Claire cut him off with an awkward laugh, “It’s a little late for that, Dad.”

“How late?” Dean asked with narrow eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry. Not that late.”

“Okay, good,” Dean cleared his throat, and looked back down at his papers, thankful they wouldn’t need to have this discussion. He cleared his throat before going back to the original topic, “You know that I would love to buy you everything that you want. But until Miss. Demoniac pays me, that thing is pretty worthless,” they had been in the house for about three weeks, and while the ghostly trio had warmed up to the pair, they still didn’t know what their unfinished business was, and they weren’t ready to move on just yet. They liked their afterlife. Unfortunately, Abaddon didn’t like that, and she was refusing to pay the rest of what she owed him until they had. 

Claire looked at the card still in her hands and set it on the table, “Oh, well okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can come up with something perfect for the party,” she couldn’t deny that she was a bit disappointed, but she knew it wasn’t his fault, “I’m gonna go look around, and see if I can find anything.”

As she stood up from the table, three ghostly voices started to sing, “It’s my party and I’ll die if I want to! Die if I want to!” before bursting out into ghoulish laughter. Claire glared at the general direction their voices had come from. She knew if they had it their way, they would ruin the party for her. She kneeled down next to her dad’s chair.

“Dad, please. Whatever you do, don’t let those guys crash it.”

Dean waved a hand, “Oh, no. I think they’re actually getting to be quite focused now,” On cue, the ghosts burst into disbelieving cackles. Claire and Dean couldn’t help but snicker. Those three grew on you after a while. Like barnacles. 

Claire set off in search of a costume, while Dean went back to his coffee, “Scream, or sugar?” Gabriel asked in a very hospitable voice as the other two laughed. Dean just rolled his eyes and continued to ignore them. It wasn’t time for their session yet.

\--

Claire searched the house until she finally found a set of stairs that led up to the attic. If there was any place she might find a costume, it would most likely be there. The attic was, unsurprisingly, very large, and filled with trunks, and chests, and even an old wardrobe in the corner. She decided that she and Jack should look through these things. Maybe there would be something that would remind Jack of his life? In any case, it could still be a lot of fun. She loved looking through old things, trying to think of their story. 

She headed over to the wardrobe, when another door caught her eye. It was small. The perfect size for her, but her Dad would definitely need to duck to get through it. She turned the nob, but the door was stuck tight. it obviously hadn’t been opened in quite a while. She gathered her strength, and pushed against the door with all of her might.

The room hidden behind the door was painted a very nice, though faded, shade of blue. It had large windows on three sides, though they were so covered in dust, there was no way Claire would be able to see what they overlooked. The room was filled with wooden boxes, and what wasn’t boxed was covered in dusty white sheets. She used one of the sheets to clean off a window, just enough to let in some light. 

Claire walked over to one of the boxes, and after a bit of struggling, managed to pull the nailed-on lid off. When she looked in the contents of the box, she finally realized what the room was. 

Forget the costume, it was only nine o’clock, and the student council wouldn’t show up until at least six. She had a new task. 

\--

Dean walked into his office, deliberately late for the trio’s therapy session. He knew exactly how he would make the ghosts leave Claire and the party alone for the night. 

The ghosts in question were floating in a seated position above the small couch that had come with the room. they were each wearing glasses and holding a pad and pencil. Sam started to speak in a German accent, “Vell, vell, ze patient has finally arrived.”

“Late again, I see,” Gabriel tsked in a disappointed voice.

“Could this be an expression of hostility, Doc?”

“It’s your hour, Freud,” Lucifer chimed in.

No one in the room noticed the peeping toms outside the window. Crowley and Abaddon had spied on every therapy session, desperate for when the ghosts would finally cross over and they could look for the treasure. 

Sam flew up to Dean as he continued to ignore them, and started piling his books in a box, “What? So silent? NO pearls of wisdom today, Doc?” Dean just moved around him.

Gabriel appeared in front of him next, “Come on, Doc. Stay tough. Don’t stop,” Dean didn’t even blink in acknowledgment. If there was one thing these three ghosts hated, it was being ignored. They wanted to be left in peace to haunt, that was for sure, but they still loved attention. And for the last couple of weeks, Dean had given them that, in abundance. 

“Come on Doc, hang with us,” Sam finally noticed what Dean was doing, “Hey, wait a second. What? You ain’t thinking about packing it in now, are you, Doc?” he pulled on the box Dean was packing, resulting in a small game of tug of war that Dean quickly claimed victory of. 

“We were just startin’ to have fun,” Lucifer objected.

“It ain’t often we meet a bonebag as amusin’ as you,” Gabriel agreed. Dean just continued to ignore them, and continued packing. The trio stared at him. If they were anyone else, they might even say they were concerned.

“Geez, this is serious,” Sam muttered to the other two, “I think that Dean’s having one of those fleshy breakdowns.”

“Do you think we should break into a song?” Lucifer asked, sounding a bit too excited over the idea.

“No,” Gabriel said, giving him a whack in the head, “I think it’s time we gave the doc our own prescription.

“But what about the party?”

“The party will have to wait,” Sam said, sternly.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Gabriel asked.

“Gentlemen. Happy hour,” the ghosts were determined to cheer Dean up, and so they picked him up, and floated him out the window, cheerfully singing ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall as they floated over to the best bar in Friendship.

Crowley and Abaddon stared after them in shock, both having narrowly avoided being hit by the window when it had been flung open. Crowley spoke, “This is an outrage. This is appalling. We pay a man to get the ghosts out of the house, and what does he do?”

“He gets the ghosts out of the house,” Abaddon answered, giving Crowley a smug look.

“Exactly—” Crowley said, before realizing exactly what Abaddon had meant.

They didn’t waste any time before climbing in through the window. It was time to find her treasure.

\--

Jack had been looking for Claire all morning with no luck. He had finally floated up to the attic, a room he didn’t see much point in spending time in. The small ghost noticed noise coming from an open door off to the side, and floated over to it. before he could head inside, Claire peeked around the door frame, “It’s about time,” she said with a laugh before pulling back, and letting him see what was inside.

Claire had spent the last five hours deep cleaning the room, and unpacking all of the boxes. 

The boxes had been filled with toys. A miniature Ferris Wheel stood next to the window, overlooking the ocean. An electric train roamed the room on a track above their heads. There was so much more, that Jack couldn’t even begin to take stock of it all. This was a child’s dream playroom. 

“Look familiar?”

Jack floated from toy, to toy. Each one he looked at brought a new memory back, “I know this,” he whispered, shocked. Hanging on the wall, was a small mold of a hand, labeled ‘Jack.’ He touched his transparent had to it, “I had five fingers! I remember!” this was his playroom. A place built specifically for him by his loving father. He had spent so much time in here when he was still alive, that it was no surprise that the sounds and sight of all his beloved toys brought back so many memories he had thought were long gone. Even the smell, though still slightly musty despite Claire’s best efforts remained the same. Jack jumped high, another memory coming back to him, “And wait!” he said, before floating out of the room, Claire following closely behind him, deep into the attic as he dove into a trunk.

She waited for a few moments, before the trunk’s lid opened, and Jack floated out, holding a long, elegant white lace dress in his transparent hands, “Check it out. He floated high above her head, “Hands up, Claire,” he waited until she did so before carefully dropping the dress over her head, until she emerged out the other side. 

Claire looked down at herself in awe. The dress was definitely too big, but she still felt beautiful in it, “Oh wow,” she said, obviously impressed.

“It was my mom’s.”

Claire’s eyes shot up to meet his. She motioned at the dress, “Can I?” 

“Go ahead,” he smiled, pointing at a nearby mirror. 

She walked over to it, and stared at herself as she tied the long sash of the dress in a big bow behind her back. Jack’s mom had obviously been a very tiny woman, so it fit rather comfortably on her twelve-year old body. The dress was incredibly stunning, and Claire had never felt prettier. It went all the way down to the floor, until it pooled in a pile of white lace around her feet. It was practically an antique. Possibly even from the early 1900’s. Claire had never worn anything like it before, “Oh, Jack, it’s perfect,” she said, very gratefully, “You think I could wear it to the party, tonight?” Jack didn’t answer, “Jack?” she looked away from the mirror and glanced around the attic, confused by the lack of response. 

There he was, just off to the side of the mirror, sitting on a sled. He didn’t look happy anymore. Instead, he looked very, very sad, “…I begged and begged my dad to get me this sled, and he acted like I couldn’t even have it, ‘cause I didn’t know how to ride it. And then one morning, I came down for breakfast, and there it was! Just for me, with no reason at all! I took it out, went sledding all day. Dad had to work, so my uncles went with me. Sam said, ‘That’s enough,’ but I couldn’t stop I was having so much fun. Then it got late. Got dark. Got cold. Lucifer wanted us to take a shortcut home, so I wouldn’t get sick. We got lost…Gabriel fell through a lake. Oh, God, Sam was so terrified, and we tried desperately to get him out, but it was too late. We finally made it home, Sam wouldn’t let anyone else carry Gabriel’s body. He never said anything, but I knew he blamed Lucifer, and Lucifer blamed himself. We were all soaking wet by the time we got home…and then I got sick…and my dad got sad…Sam followed Gabriel…and Lucifer couldn’t cope with the guilt of causing the death of both his brother, and his brother-in-law… we all left Dad alone.”

Claire sat down next to him, wanting nothing more than to give her friend a hug, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Claire asked, “What’s it like to die?”

“Like…being born. Only backwards. I remember, I didn’t go where I was supposed to go. I just stayed behind, so my dad wouldn’t be lonely. And my uncles stayed behind with me, because they weren’t able to protect me. It was all my fault. If I had just gone home when Uncle Sam had told me it was time…if I hadn’t begged over and over for this sled. I didn’t need it. You saw my playroom, I had everything. I didn’t need anything else. But Dad just never wanted to say no to me. He was always determined to give me the best life possible, especially after mom died. And then, when he eventually died, he was reunited with me. I guess you could say it was his own unfinished business, so he was able to cross over. I’m the one keeping my uncle’s here,” Claire looked up in shock, “My unfinished business is the life I didn’t get to live. The friends I never made, the family I was never able to build. My life itself, is my unfinished business, and I won’t ever be able to cross over, because there is no way fo me to have that. And my uncle’s unfinished business was keeping me safe. They can’t leave until I do. I ruined everything, for so many people.”

Claire couldn’t look at him anymore. Her heart was broken for her friend, who would be stuck here, alone for all eternity. It just wasn’t fair. She looked down at a pile of newspapers by her feet. The different headlines on the front page confirmed what he had told her; ‘Shurley Youth Dies,’ ‘Double Suicide Following Youngest Shurley Brother Funeral,’ ‘Mysterious Activity At Hunters Manor,’ ‘Father Invents “Resurrection” Machine To Raise Dead Son.’ That last one caught her eye, and she picked up the paper. Under the headline, there was a sketch of a man with curly hair, and a full beard, “Is that your dad?” she asked. Jack nodded. She went on to read the article next to the picture, “Charles Shurley claimed that he was haunted by the ghost of his dead son. And that he invented a machine to bring him back to life, the Laz—”

“The Lazarus,” Jack cut her off. The two looked at each other for a minute before Jack grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her feet. He quickly floated through the wall, with her running after him. At least, she tried to run after him, but was pulled face first into the wall. The shock caused her to fall to the floor and Jack came back through the wall, and looked down at her apologetically, “Whoops. Sorry. I guess we’ll just have to take the long way,” He pulled her to her feet again, as she picked up the long skirt of her dress, so she wouldn’t trip over it, “Hurry up, come on!” he shouted back at her as they ran out of the attic, “My dad hid it, so that no one would find it, but I remember where it is! Awe, wait ‘til you see it!” they were both so excited, and Jack was in such a rush that neither noticed Crowley and Abaddon sneaking their way down the hall. They heard what the little ghost said, and automatically assumed it was the treasure they had been so desperately looking for. They shared a look and immediately took off after the other two. 

Claire was starting to get tired of running after Jack, “Don’t you know a shortcut?”

“You got it!” Jack said, turning a sharp corner and heading straight towards another wall.

Claire really did not want a repeat of what had happened in the attic, “Jack, no! Wall! Human! Stop!” he let go of her wrist at the last second, giving her just enough time to throw her hands in front of her face in protection, as she went flying through the wall. It wasn’t a wall at all, it was a secret door to the upper part of the study that was now her dad’s office.

They still didn’t notice the two intruders following their every move. 

“Over here!” Jack beckoned, motioning to a dusty red velvet chair, “Go on, sit down,” she did as he asked, honestly just glad to be able to sit after all that running, “I would hold on.”

Claire looked up at him, a little nervous, but grabbed onto the arms of the chair, “Why?”

In leu of answer, Jack just pulled one of the tassels hanging from the floor lamp next to the chair. 

The tassel was obviously the switch, and Claire held tightly to the chair as it quickly started to move backwards. It stopped at the top of the spiral staircase, and turned around as the stairs collapsed in on themselves, until they became a slide, “Jack!” she screamed in terror as the chair flew down the stairs and the floor opened up beneath them, sending her into an underground tunnel. 

It was terrifying. The tunnel was black and covered with cobwebs, a strange wind blew around her, and it smelled like salt water. The tunnel must go far into the cliff the mansion was built on. 

As the chair continued to move, she felt her leg hit a latch of some kind, and heard the crackling of long unused electricity. She heard bells start to ring, and a gust of wind blew in her face, startling her. Dim lights turned on, and the chair entered a different part of the tunnel, this section filled with strange machines. She flinched when an old, dusty toothbrush, covered in toothpaste was shoved in front of her face, and began scrubbing at her tightly closed lips. She allowed herself to breath when it pulled back, only to press herself far back into the chair as shaving cream sprayed in front of her.

Claire’s eyes widened as two sharp, noisy razor blades lowered themselves in front of her, clanking against each other as they prepared to give her a shave. She ducked down as far as she could, giving the blades a wary look. As she finally passed them, she was sprayed in the face with icy water, making her gasp as hot air blew out of vents. Thankfully, those last two helped get the toothpaste off her face as three combs, one on each side of her head, came down and combed her hair back. The finishing touch was a final machine that lowered a black bowtie around her throat.

Honestly, the whole experience was like a carwash for a human, and not something Claire ever wanted to experience again. She finally rolled out of the tunnel and down into a very large cave, illuminated by high window, that obviously doubled as a laboratory. The chair rolled to a stop in front of a desk, where Jack sat, waiting for her, “Well?” he asked, expectantly.

“What was that?” 

“The ‘Up and At’em’ Machine. My dad was a really great inventor, but he had a little trouble getting going in the morning.”

“Didn’t he ever hear of caffeine?” she asked, as she ripped off the bowtie, and finally escaped the chair from Hell, “What is all this?” she asked, looking around the laboratory. 

“My dad’s lab,” he answered, proudly.

Claire looked at the mess of papers and machinery, “Kind of a slob, wasn’t he?”

“Down here he could do whatever he wanted to. But no matter how busy he was, he would drop everything to play pirates with me.”

Crowley and Abaddon practically crawled their way out of the tunnel. Abaddon’s red hair was falling out of its bun, and Crowley’s black suit was shredded, and covered in toothpaste and shaving cream. His hair was slicked back in an old-fashioned style, and a loose bowtie was around his neck. They had obviously not faired the machine very well, but they reached the end just in time to hear Jack say:

“Aye, matey. Buccaneers and buried gold. Hunters doth a treasure hold!”

They gasped, recognizing the words from the deed. They were so close to finding this treasure that Abaddon could practically smell it. They stayed at the mouth of the tunnel, watching the children, waiting for any other clue of the treasure.

Claire got Jack back on track, “So, where’s this Lazarus thing?”

“You’re looking at it.”

Claire had stopped at the edge of a small pool of water, covered in a thin cloud of mist. She hadn’t put much thought into it other than ‘don’t fall in,’ “That’s useful,” she said.

Jack sighed, “I know there’s a way to get it going, I just can’t—”

“What about that?” she asked, pointing at something just beyond Jack’s head.

Jack looked at it, before dismissing it, “That? Nah. That’s just the vault.”

Crowley and Abaddon couldn’t believe their luck. The little ghost had led them right to the treasure.

“Wait!” Jack cried, floating up to a large machine, “It’s gotta be this!” he started desperately pushing buttons and pulling levers while Claire went back to look around the desk. With all the effort Jack’s father had put into hiding the machine, she didn’t think he would make it easy to get started. She moved aside some papers and looked under dozens of design blueprints, until she got to a book that she couldn’t move. She frowned down at it, before brushing the dust off the front cover. Her eyes widened at the title, ‘Frankenstein.’ What better place to hide the controls for the machine that controlled life, than the very book that first brought up the concepts of bringing someone back to life. She opened the book, revealing nothing but a large, red button hidden in the false pages. Bottles began clanking together as a loud, rumbling noise rang through the cave. 

Jack looked down at her as the Lazarus began to rise from the pool of water, “Hey, you did it!” he proudly proclaimed as she smiled up at him. The machine Jack had been fighting with moved to join the Lazarus, obviously part of it.

They were so busy examining the machine, they didn’t notice Abaddon and Crowley sneaking over to the vault.

Claire looked at a rack filled with three empty bottles, and one that was half empty. It was filled with a bright red liquid that she couldn’t place, “What is this?”

Jack looked up at her, and his eyes widened in shock when he saw what she was holding, “Careful!” he shouted, floating over to her, and taking the beaker from her hands, “That’s what makes the whole thing work! Kind of an instant primordial soup mix,” Claire just raised a brow, clearly not getting it, “It’s what brings ghosts back to life,” he clarified, “There’s just enough for one,” he looked to the machine. On one side, there was an open compartment, just big enough for the bottle in Jack’s hands. He locked it in place, and the liquid began to glow as he turned the compartment so that the beaker was upside down, “Pull the lever.”

Claire looked at the three levers next to her, “Which one?”

“I don’t know. Try one.”

She obviously picked a good one, as the door to the Lazarus swung open. Jack floated over, and looked inside the compartment, gathering his courage before heading inside of it. Claire wasn’t comfortable with any of this. There was no thing this thing worked if Jack’s father had never been able to bring back his own son. If a brilliant inventor couldn’t do it, how could Claire? “Jack?” 

Jack wasn’t paying attention as he pulled the door closed with a final look to his friend, “I’m gonna be alive.”

Claire looked over the levers, “Oh, man…how am I gonna do this? I couldn’t even get my Easy Bake oven to work…” she sighed before taking a chance and pulling a lever. As the evil armchair that had taken her down to the lab in the first place went back into the tunnel, she guessed that that had probably been the wrong one. 

Okay…there was only one left. Claire tried to pull the lever, but halfway down, it jammed. She tugged and pulled, but nothing worked to get it free. She backed up against the railing, and supported her body against it before kicking at the lever with all her might. 

It worked. The top of the Lazarus blew steam like a kettle as the machine whirred to life, Claire guessed that was why it was kept under water. Not just to hide it, but because it was steam powered. She was so focused on keeping an eye on the dials, that she didn’t notice a hand in a shredded black suit jacket unlock the beaker of liquid from its compartment. Claire didn’t even notice something was wrong until the dials started to go haywire, and the steam slowly died down, “Jack!” she called out, worried. When she didn’t hear or see anything, she pulled the lever she had used to open the door in the first place. As she hesitantly peered around the corner, her eyes widened at the sight of her friend. 

He wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t his normal ghostly self. Instead, he looked more like a sunny side up egg with a face. As if the reanimation process had started, but been interrupted halfway through. Egg-Jack looked at her, “Am I alive?” he asked, as one eye slowly slid down his face. 

\--

Crowley and Abaddon waited until they were back out of the tunnel and in the study before talking about the vial they had stolen, “Do you have any idea what this means?” Abaddon asked, excited. 

“Yes! You don’t have to be scared of death anymore! One minute you’ll be a ghost; next you’re back on your feet, free to come and go as you please! Hell, you could even fly through—”

“Walls,” Abaddon finished with a pointed look at her companion, “Thick walls.”

“Thick as steel.”

“Certainly could get to whatever’s behind those walls.”

“Like a, a treasure for example.”

“And snap, crackle, pop, you’re back alive and on your way to the Riviera.”

Crowley gave a pleased little laugh, before sobering, and realizing a small problem with that, “If you were a ghost.”

Abaddon had already thought about that, “If you were,” she said, before grabbing something off the wall.

Crowley’s eyes widened, not liking the emphasis she had put on ‘you.’ He turned to look at her, just in time as she swung a decorative, but very real, axe towards his head. He ducked just in the nick of time, and took off down the hall. 

Abaddon was too slow to run after him, hindered by both the cumbersome axe, and the high heel she had decided to wear that day for some godforsaken reason, “Damn it, Crowley!” she shouted, “This won’t hurt a bit!” Crowley was too busy spilling a bucket of floor wax on the tile of the hallway to pay much attention to her, “Don’t be a coward! If you would just—” she had been walking too fast to care to pay attention, and went flying forward on the slick tiles. Dean had spent a lot of time polishing the floors, telling Claire it was part of his ‘nesting’ habits. The constant upkeep, paired with the overdose of wax Crowley had spread out were too much for her. The redhead slipped on the wax for, and instead of allowing herself to fall down, struggled too much to regain her balance. She scrambled about, until she eventually fell out the second story window. 

Crowley carefully snuck out of the house, frantically looking around for the woman he had hopefully just killed who had been trying to kill him…honestly it was no wonder his mother didn’t think the two of them made for a healthy couple…

He reached the pile of broken glass, but there was no Abaddon, alive or otherwise. What there was, however, was the beaker he had stolen from the lab. He smirked as he picked it up, knowing he had the power in his hands now. Before he could get too excited, he heard a car start up. Too close for comfort, was Abaddon’s black SUV. She revved the engine and he could almost hear her laughing at the dangerous situation he was in. 

As she started towards him, Crowley picked up a piece of debris from the house…a broken statue head…creepy, and through it at the car, hitting it directly in the windshield, before jumping off to the side.

“Crowley, you’re taking this way too personally!” Abaddon shouted, as she continued to drive. She drove too fast, and ended up in the small woods behind the house. She couldn’t stop, and she could barely see, so she just continued to drive like a maniac until her car finally ran into a tree, forcing her to a dead stop as the airbag deployed in her face. 

Abaddon spluttered, angrily, and scrambled for the door handle. 

If only she had been paying more attention, she would have noticed that her car was too close to the cliff the manor resided on. She might have noticed the cliff’s edge was right outside of her door if she had been paying attention. 

Crowley had only followed the car when he heard her fading screams. “Abaddon!” Crowley shouted, not expecting a response, “Are you a ghost yet!?” nothing, “What a tragic waste…she had my favorite sunglasses,” he shrugged it off, and turned to walk back to the manor. Guess he had no choice but to become a ghost. At least this way, the treasure would be all his. 

“Not so fast, little man!” a voice boomed from behind him, “The bitch is back!”

\--

Dean and the three ghosts had been at the karaoke bar ever since it had opened. Now, Dean had a very high alcohol tolerance, but after an entire day of drinking, he could safely say, he was absolutely wasted. The ghosts were enjoying watching him be absolutely terrible at karaoke.

“Hey, Dr. Winchester’s got a lot of spirit. You know what I’m saying?” Gabriel asked the other two.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “What a pity he’s got his whole miserable life ahead of him.”

“Maybe we should just do him a favor, and put him out of his misery,” Lucifer suggested with his ghoulish grin, and Sam smiled.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. We’ve been the ghostly trio long enough. I think it’s time to make it a quartet!”

The ghosts snuck up behind Dean as he collapsed on top of the karaoke machine’s speaker. Gabriel was armed with a rifle, Sam with a broken bottle, and Lucifer with a harpoon. They slowly slunk up to him, and raised their weapons in the air, before hiding them behind their backs as he turned around. 

“Could I just say something here?” Dean slurred, “And get a little personal?” he waited until the ghosts eagerly nodded, big, innocent smiles on their faces as they waited for him to continue, “Well, I just got to tell you…you guys remind me of what it’s like to…hang out with the boys…” he started walking aimlessly around the nearly deserted bar, the three ghosts trailing behind him, weapons raised, “I mean, you are absolutely there for each other,” he swung around at the ghosts again, forcing them to hide their weapons once more, “I mean…you look life right in the face, and you say, ‘I’m a ghost! I don’t need you!’ You know what? I’m gonna tell that Miss Demon Lemon—Demo—De—I’m gonna tell that lady you aren’t going anywhere! It’s your house! You’re haunting it! Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“No,” the ghosts said in unison, the very rare feeling they recognized as guilt started to sneak up on them.

“Yes,” Dean drunkenly argued back.

“No.”

“Yes,” Dean slung his arms around Sam and Gabriel’s shoulders, “You know, I didn’t think so at first, but…you guys are great. I love you guys!” he pulled Gabriel closer and planted a drunk, friendly kiss on the lips. He pulled away, and tugged Sam’s face closer while Gabriel spluttered. Sam groaned awkwardly as Dean pressed a kiss to his cheek. The living man released both of the ghosts, before grabbing Lucifer by the head, and pulling him in for a kiss, making the third ghost laugh awkwardly. 

After he had expressed his affection to his satisfaction, he walked away from the ghosts and staggered back over to the bar where he had left his bottle of whiskey.

The ghosts started sobbing, and Sam threw his bottle to the floor, causing the remains to shatter, “What a sweetheart!” the tallest ghost moaned.

“I can’t croak him now!” Lucifer exclaimed throwing his harpoon behind him until it landed with a ‘boing’ in the far wall.

“Me neither! No way!” Gabriel sobbed as he tossed his rifle aside, ignoring it as it went off and shot a hole in the ceiling. 

“All right, boys!” Dean exclaimed, picking up his bottle of Jack Daniels, and heading towards the door, “The night is young! We are gonna clean out every bar this town has got! We’re gonna booze it, until we lose it, so come on, come on!” he didn’t notice them shaking their heads and rushing towards him, trying to stop him as he walked backwards, not seeing the open manhole behind him until it was too late, and he was falling with a scream.

Then there was a loud crash.

Then there was silence.

\--

Claire had found an old-fashioned pump, one that looked like what Miracle Max used in ‘The Princess Bride’ when Wesley was mostly dead, and shoved the end in Jacks mouth, using the air to get him back to his normal ghostly state.

“I think my ears just popped,” he said, when Claire decided he looked normal. Before she could respond, they were both startled by a feminine, ghostly cackle. One that definitely didn’t belong to any of Jack’s uncles. They were shocked to see a ghost fly right over their heads and into the vault Jack had pointed out earlier. 

“Come to mama!” they heard that same voice call out victoriously before the vault door swung open, revealing that same ghost, clutching a padlocked treasure chest in her translucent arms. 

Because she had only just died, Abaddon was still identifiable, with her long red hair, floating loosely around her face, and her too much makeup giving her features definition. You could even make out a hint of the outfit she had been wearing when she died.

“My treasure!” Jack objected when he saw the chest she was carrying.

“You mean MY treasure!” she bellowed.

“Miss. Demoniac?” Claire asked, shocked.

“In the flesh!” Abaddon said proudly, before looking down at her ghostly body, “Well, in a couple of minutes.”

Before they could say another word, they heard yelps of pain coming from the tunnel behind them. The three of them turned around to see the armchair coming down the ramp, into the lab, Crowley in the chair, looking even worse the second time around. Abaddon floated over to him, and barked out, “Crowley! What are you doing?! This is no time to shave!”

“I’m helping you! Remember?”

“Remember what?”

“This!” he held up the beaker with the very last of the life-liquid.

Claire was furious. That was why the machine hadn’t worked on Jack, “You stole that! That’s Jack’s!”

Abaddon cackled even louder, as she headed over to the Lazarus, “So, sue me! Crowley, the capsule, now!”

Jack thought fast. He floated over to the false Frankenstein book, and pressed a smaller button next to the one for the Lazarus. The armchair stopped mere feet away from the desk, and reclined, forcing Crowley to stumble out of the chair. Jack floated over to him, “You keep away from me,” Crowley demanded as Jack came closer, and closer to his face. Crowley just continued to back away, not realizing he was getting dangerously close to the edge of the floor, where the stream for the Lazarus’ pond entered the lab. All it took was a ghostly cold finger to the chest to send the living man falling back into the water, the vial safely in Jack’s hands.

“Jump on!” he told Claire, motioning towards the chair. She hopped on, taking the beaker from Jack as he pressed yet another button, this one to send the chair back through the tunnels to the starting point. 

When the chair finally came to a stop, both ghost and girl took a deep breath, certain they could relax for just a minute, which is naturally when the doorbell rang. It was six o’clock. Claire sighed and looked at Jack, “Perfect,” she huffed, before running out of the chair and towards the front door.

She pulled it open, revealing Mr. Lafitte dressed as a…vampire? A pirate? A Vampirate? She could only assume. And the student council holding decorations and food behind him, “We’re here,” he said in his Louisiana accent. 

Claire backed up, trying to catch her breath, “Oh, okay, um come on in,” she backed into the foyer, leaving the door open, even though no one was quite brave enough to step inside yet, “This is the room, stay together and you’ll be safe, and I’ll be right back!” she ran back the way she came and the teacher and students hesitantly made their way into the haunted house. 

\--

When Claire and Jack made their way back to the lab, they saw Crowley using a crowbar and attempting to pry the padlock off the treasure chest.

“Hey, that’s my treasure!” Jack objected.

Crowley whirled on them, holding the crowbar up in defense, “Stay back. Keep away from me! Don’t come near me you spiteful spook, or I’ll knock you into the next world!”

Jack growled at him, but Claire merely shook her head, “Come on, let’s go.”

The two headed back to the Lazarus, and put the vial back in its compartment, ready to bring Jack back to life. But as they pulled the lever to open the door, Abaddon burst out of it, “Ta da!” she shouted, cackling gleefully at the way they jumped back. Crowley wrapped his arms around the treasure chest, “Back off! It’s my turn in the oven!” she turned to her accomplice, “Crowley! Get this thing working you blasted little worm, you!”

Crowley had had enough as he set the chest down, “Ah, Abaddon. How kind of you to drop in. You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from you, it’s; always kick ‘em when they’re down, and baby…you’re six feet under! Oh, what a shame,” he stalked up to the Lazarus, and pulled the vial from its compartment. He gave it a look, “Sorry sweetheart. We’re through,” he went to smash the capsule, only to stop when Abaddon gasped.

“I am NOT going to forget this, you ungrateful, lousy little worm you!”

Crowley laughed at her, “Oh, you can haunt me all you want, but it’s gonna be in a great big, expensive house! With lovely purple wallpaper, and great big green carpets! And a little dog…named Abaddon. A bitch! Just like you! I’ve got the power! I’ve got the treasure!” Crowley officially had it all. Everything he wanted. There was nothing left for him.

“And you have a flight to catch,” Abaddon said, reveling in the way Crowley’s eyes widened as she picked him up, plucked the vial from his hands, and sent him flying through one of the high windows of the laboratory, sending him straight to his death. She looked to the other two, “Any other takers?”

Claire and Jack shared a look, before the little ghost spoke, “No…but aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What!?” she barked.

“Your unfinished business.”

“My what?”

Claire took over, understanding where Jack was heading, “You know, unfinished business. All ghosts have unfinished business. It’s why they don’t cross over.”

Abaddon scoffed at them, “Unfinished business? I have no unfinished business. I have my treasure, my mansion. I have everything! I’m. Just. Perfect,” she laughed, but was caught off by the beam of light that broke through her chest. She gasped, realizing what was happening, “Wait! Wait! I lied!” another beam of light, “I have unfinished business, lots of unfinished business! I-I’m not ready to cross over yet!” her lies weren’t working. She had already doomed herself, and as more and more beams of light broke through her body, she realized that she was truly hopeless, “Wait! You tricked me, you rotten little brats!” with a final scream, the light took over the last of her, before exploding into a waterfall of sparks, and light, as both the vial and treasure chest she had been holding went flying into the air.

Claire’s eyes widened, and she leaped forward, landing with an ‘Umph’ on her stomach, the vial safely cupped in her hands as the treasure chest landed a few feet away from her, the force knocking the padlock off. She stood up, rubbing her aching abdomen, and looked inside the treasure chest.

“My treasure!” Jack exclaimed, thrilled to see it again after so long.

Claire stared at him, “A ball? That’s your treasure?” 

Sure enough, in the treasure chest that both Abaddon and Crowley had died to obtain, was a simple baseball and catcher’s mitt. The most valuable treasure of them all for a young boy who loved to play. Jack reached for the ball, and started tossing it up and down in his intangible hand, “Are you kidding? It’s autographed by Duke Snyder, the Brooklyn Dodgers. My favorite player. What else would I put in a treasure chest, but my most treasured possession?” he tossed the ball up and down, catching it every time before Claire grabbed it in mid-air.

“Jack…it’s time.”

Jack nodded nervously, and the two of them went back to the Lazarus. As Casper sealed the door behind himself, Claire took a deep breath, and went to pull the lever. The vial was in place, and there would be no more disturbances with Crowley and Abaddon gone. 

Or at least, so she thought. For as she went to pull the lever, and bring her best friend back to life, she heard a voice she knew very well call out, “Honey, I’m home!” her eyes widened in terror as an obviously fresh, distorted ghost, came floating into the lab. A ghost wearing a leather jacket, with a hint of flannel underneath. A ghost with short, slightly spikey blond hair. A ghost with apple green eyes. Her father.

“Dad!?” she cried out in shock and horror as the ghostly trio floated over to him to help him regain his balance, “No! What have you done to him?!”

“Nothin’” Gabriel said as he looked at the other two, “He’s just a little…dead.”

“I’m free!” Dean exclaimed as he floated up in the air, “I’ve never felt so good in my life! I can fly!”

Jack floated out of the Lazarus to see what was going on. When he looked at Claire’s father, and then looked at Claire, her perfect face twisted in despair, he knew what he would have to do.

Claire didn’t even notice him as she climbed down off the machine and approached her deceased father, “Dad?”

Dean spun around to look at her, “Hey, who’s the girl?”

“Dad, it’s me. I-it’s Claire.”

“Claire? I don’t think I know a Claire. You must have the wrong, Dad, I guess. Sorry Pal.”

Claire started to cry. Her father, the only person she had left, was dead. She was an orphan. After Papa had died, her dad had promised he wouldn’t leave her for as long as she needed him. He pinky swore. 

The three other ghosts groaned when she started crying, “Flesh flood alert,” Lucifer joked, making the other two laugh. 

“Dad…Dad, don’t you remember?” Claire begged as she walked over to the ghostly form of her father. She held up a pinky.

Dean stared at it for a few seconds, “Oh, yeah! I remember!” he said, before pulling on her finger while blowing a raspberry. The four adult ghosts burst out laughing while Claire sobbed harder. 

Claire shook her head, frantically, “No! No! No! This,” she wrapped her pinky around her third finger, reminding him of their sacred promise. Dean looked down at their conjoined pinky’s in horror, finally realizing that he had left his daughter all alone. Breaking, not only his promise to her, but his promise to Cas, that he would always take care of her. 

“Oh, Claire… oh, Nephie what have I done?” he looked down at himself, at the ghostly figure he had become, and he hated himself. This was never supposed to happen. He had just wanted to get the ghosts out of the house so they wouldn’t disturb Claire’s party. Instead, he had ended up dead, and broken his daughter’s heart, “Don’t cry, I— oh, please,” he hated seeing her cry. He couldn’t cope with it. It broke his heart every time. It was why he had picked up her toy for her on that fateful day he had met both of the loves of his life. He had promised himself he would never be the cause of her tears, and now here he was. 

Jack floated over to him, and took him by the arm, “Come on, Dr. Winchester, you need this more than I do,” he said, floating the two of them over to the Lazarus. He pushed Dean inside, and shut the door behind him. His father had never been able to bring a ghost back to life, and he had died trying. Jack knew that this would work. It had to work. Otherwise, what would Claire do? How could she keep going without her father? 

“Jack…” Claire tried to object. She knew how much this meant to the little ghost. He couldn’t give up his only chance.

Jack wouldn’t hear of it, “This is the way it’s gotta be,” he said, refusing to look at her. Without hesitating, the littlest ghost went over, and pulled the lever. The whistles started to blow as the machine sprang to life, causing the lights all over the mansion to flicker. Claire stood next to Jack, anxious and desperate. Hoping against all hope that her father would come out alive.

And as Jack powered down the machine, and the door swung open, the four ghosts and one living girl waited with bated breaths to see what would happen. Would the machine work, or would Dr. Winchester be doomed to remain a ghost forever?

A hand popped out of the machine. A pink hand, with five fingers. It was followed by another, equally pink hand with the same number of fingers. Dean was alive. The machine had worked.

“Dad!” Claire jumped into her father’s arms, giving him the biggest hug she could manage, happy to feel him, warm and tangible in her arms. 

Dean gripped her equally tight, “Oh, Nephie. Oh, that felt like the strangest dream. I—I thought we almost lost each other for a minute there. Oh, Nephie,” the two of them probably would have stayed in the hug all night if they hadn’t heard the loud music playing far above their heads.

“Your party started without you,” Jack said from behind Claire, trying his hardest not to let his heartbreak show on his face. Jack had made his choice, and he wouldn’t change it, no matter how much he was hurting, “Your friend’s probably waiting.”

Dean looked between his daughter and the ghost, curious, but also not really wanting to know what was going on between the two of them, “We should get going,” he said, pulling Claire close and preparing to leave the room and head to the party. For the first time, he looked around where they were, “Um…where are we?”

\--

Claire guessed the party was going fine. She had never been to one before, but everyone seemed to be having a good time, and the ghostly trio hadn’t even made an appearance. She guessed they felt guilty for inadvertently causing the temporary death of her father, and that this was their way of apologizing. Though judging by the way some of her classmates were looking around, almost bored, she guessed they were disappointed not to see any ghosts. Oh well, she doubted they would be so excited to see the ghostly trio if they had decided to make an appearance. 

She hadn’t seen Alex, but she had honestly known she wouldn’t. Alex had told her what Henry planned, and that she didn’t know how to say no to him. Claire didn’t really mind so much. She still liked her and appreciated the honesty. Claire had assured her that she still wanted to be friends and would wait until she was more independent from Henry. 

Henry who…just ran screaming down the staircase?

Well, it looks like Sam, Lucifer, and Gabriel had managed to have some fun after all.

\--

Jack sat bored in his playroom, idly tossing his baseball up and down. He could hear the party floors below him, and wanted to go, but he knew that he would ruin the night for Claire if he showed up as a ghost. It would have been nice to show up alive…

Jack knew he wouldn’t have changed what he did tonight. He couldn’t be so selfish and steal Claire’s father away from her. He had been dead for decades, what did it matter if he stayed that way a little longer?

He kept tossing the ball higher and higher, catching it every time, until he suddenly didn’t.

The little ghost looked around the room in confusion. The ball hadn’t hit anything else, but it didn’t seem to be anywhere…

A strange, glowing light filled the dark room. Jack looked on in shock as a man with large, black wings appeared before him, holding the missing ball out in his hand, “You’re…” he couldn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” the man’s voice was unexpectedly gravely.

“You’re—”

“That’s right,” he gently threw the ball at Jack, who caught it instinctively.

“Claire’s papa?” he nodded in affirmation, “Are you an angel?”

Castiel didn’t answer, choosing instead to get to the reason for his visit, “That was a very noble thing you did tonight, Jack. I know Claire will never forget it. She needs her father, very much. And I know yours will never forget it either,” Jack’s eyes widened at the mention of his father. Castiel knew him? “You managed to fulfill his greatest dream tonight. And I know he is very, very proud of you,” Jack’s eyes started to well up with tears that threatened to overflow. Jack didn’t cry often, and as a general rule, neither did most ghosts. But knowing that his father would be proud of him, and knowing he still cared enough to watch over him…it was special to Jack in a way he hadn’t thought he would need. Castiel continued speaking, “And for what you’ve done tonight, I’m giving you your dream in return,” Jack’s head shot up in shock, so fast that if he were still alive, he would’ve given himself whiplash. Castiel went on, “But it’s just for tonight. I’m not allowed to make long-term changes yet. Although your father did want me to tell you that the answers are all in the lab, and it is possible to make more. But you have to work very hard, and it can’t be used on any ghost other than the ones who live in this mansion, though I’m not sure if your uncles would want to take a chance. They seem very happy where they are, although they might change their minds eventually. But for tonight at least, it’s a bit of a Cinderella deal.”

Jack’s head was spinning. Claire’s papa was an angel, his dad still looked after him, he could potentially remake the formula that brings ghosts back to life, and he would be able to go to the dance. The little ghost was amazed he was still conscious, “So, does that mean I have until midnight?”

Castiel shook his head, “Ten.”

“Hey,” he objected, teasingly, “Cinderella got until midnight.”

Castiel smiled, a very rare smile and leaned towards the little ghost, “Cinderella wasn’t twelve-years old,” and with his message sent, Castiel touched two finger’s to Jack’s transparent head, and a bright white light erupted throughout the room.

\--

Claire sat in a chair along the wall, the only wallflower left, it appeared. She watched as classmate after classmate was invited to dance, trying not to let the sting hurt as she was constantly passed over. She didn’t even have anyone to talk to…this attempt at making friends was not going too well, apparently. 

Something was happening.

Most of the girls and even some of the boys stopped looking at their partners as a new boy walked down the staircase, dressed as a pirate in a white shirt, with what looked like genuine pirate boots. There was a red sash hanging from his waste, trailing down his black-clad legs, and a very real sword hung from it. 

The boy had the softest looking, light brown hair with blue eyes that looked strangely familiar, and unexpectedly focused on Claire. 

He walked right by all the girls who were giving him inviting smiles, and held his hand out to the lone wallflower, not taking his eyes off hers. She didn’t hesitate to take his hand.

His hand was warm as he led her to the middle of the dance floor. He wrapped her arms around his neck and placed his hands securely on her waist, before gently leading the two of them in a dance. 

Claire smiled at the handsome boy in front of her. He was incredibly light on his feet, and moved so confidently, that if she hadn’t looked down at that moment, she would never have known they were floating a good three feet off the ground.

She gasped, shocked and a bit afraid, as she tightened her grip on the strange boy. He just chuckled and said, in a voice that sounded oh so familiar, “I told you I was a good dancer,” her brow furrowed, trying to figure out where he had ever spoken to her before, when he leaned in close and quietly whispered in her ear, “Can I keep you?” Claire froze. She had thought that she had dreamed that. But as she pulled back, and stared deep into the stranger’s eyes, she knew who it was.

“Jack?”

A knowing smile was his only response, and she just held him even tighter, thrilled over being able to finally hug her friend. The two were so lost in each other, they didn’t notice the other students stop dancing in favor of staring in shock at the floating pair. 

\--

Dean watched the party from the second floor. He didn’t want to interfere, but he also didn’t want to be too far from Claire after his temporary death experience. He knew exactly who the strange boy dancing with his daughter was, but he didn’t have any idea how it had happened.

That is, until a glowing white light from behind him caught his eye. He turned around, shocked as a figure he recognized, and would always be able to recognize appeared in front of him.

He was almost exactly the same. The same messy hair, bright blue eyes, messy suit, and oversized trench coat. The only true difference was the large, black wings. And then he smiled, that soft, soft smile and said in that same gravelly voice, “Hello Dean.”

“Cas,” he whispered, not knowing if he could believe it.

“It’s all right. It’s just me.”

Dean couldn’t even blink, too terrified the love of his life would vanish if he closed his eyes for even half a second, “I—I thought I’d have a hundred things to say when I—” he cut himself off, “How?”

Cas’s blue eyes didn’t leave Dean’s green. The angel knew this time together was limited, and he wanted to commit as much of it to memory as he could, “Let’s just say you know three crazy ghosts who kept their word.”

Dean was going to buy those three ghosts a damn fruit basket.

Castiel’s smile faded, “Dean, I know you’ve been searching for me. But there’s something you have to understand. You and Claire loved me so well when I was alive…that I had no unfinished business. Please don’t let me be yours.”

Dean shook his head, “But, Cas, I don’t—I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Cas knew that Dean had always doubted whether or not he could be a good father to Claire, always thinking the time he had missed when she was a baby would create an unmendable rend in their relationship. His self-doubt was something Cas had thought he would always be there to help his husband fight against. Castiel knew that if Dean hadn’t been there, he would never have been able to cross over, “What parent does? Dean, Claire is growing up beautifully because of you.”

“No wonder I miss you so much.”

“Just a couple things though. French fries are not a breakfast food. Pie is dessert, only. And please don’t ask her to wear a t-shirt— “

“Under her bathing suit,” Dean interrupted. It was their most common argument, “I know…our daughter is a teenager.”

Cas smiled. It was almost time for him to go, but he couldn’t resist touching Dean’s hair one final time. Neither of them had any idea that the last time they saw each other was the last time, and they wanted to use this final goodbye to make up for it. Dean clutched Castiel’s hand close to his face, before slowly leaning in, and pressing a last, heartbreaking kiss to his husbands ever so slightly dry lips.

Cas reluctantly pulled away as the clock struck ten. He could only stay for as long as his miracle was in effect.

Dean didn’t want him to leave, “Wait…where are you going?”

“Where I can watch over both of you until we’re together again, which better not be for a very long time. Goodbye Dean,” he whispered, and Dean watched, not looking away for one second as the blinding white light came once again, taking his husband with it as it faded away. 

\--

Jack stopped dancing as the clock struck ten. Claire pulled away, concerned, “Jack?” she asked. Jack didn’t say a word. He simply leaned in, giving Claire more than enough time to pull away and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, sweet first kiss. 

Claire didn’t pull away until the warm lips went cold. She pulled back and was unsurprised to see Jack back to his normal ghostly state. What did surprise her, however, was seeing the crowd of classmates that had surrounded the two of them as they floated.

The room was dead silent.

Jack bashfully looked around the room at all the wide-eyed junior high kids staring at him. He gave an awkward chuckle, and just gave a soft, “Boo.”

That did it. Teachers, students, parent chaperones, they all ran screaming out of the manor, leaving nothing but torn decorations and crumbled food in their wake. Claire and Jack shared a look, both more amused than anything. She could hear her dad laughing his head off from the second floor.

“Not bad for my first party,” Claire said with a chuckle. 

“Couldn’t have been better,” Jack agreed with a wide grin.

There was time later. Time for Dean to talk to Claire about her Papa’s visit. Time for Jack to find the formula for the life-giving potion. Time for the ghostly trio to find a less destructive way to cope with their afterlife. But for now, it was time for them all to clean up the party. Just the father, daughter duo. The ghostly trio. And the one, friendly ghost.


End file.
